


RED

by Bergen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Happy Ending, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Light Angst, Mentor Remus Lupin, Not canon (remus is alive for one), Original Character(s), Post-Canon, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Secret Identity, Secrets, Spies & Secret Agents, Therapy, War Aftermath, the kids all need hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-05-31 21:53:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 23,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15128570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bergen/pseuds/Bergen
Summary: The war is over, Hogwarts needs to be a safe place, an escape. For all the students, but especially for the ones who have returned for their eighth year. For Harry, who is still fighting the war inside his head, for Blaise, who misses his parents, and for Draco, who might not be as free from his father’s influences as the staff hopes. Remus wants to fix everyone’s problems, but has some of his own to deal with -- like finding out what in Merlin’s name happened to ‘code name RED’.





	1. The Malfoy Trials

It feels to Remus like memories have seeped into every gap in the brick walls of the castle. Like the black lake is one giant swirling pensieve. The castle grounds feel a bit like a graveyard, these days, but oddly enough, he doesn’t mind. He has always sort of liked graveyards. When he was little, there had been one just down the road from his family home and for him, it had always been a place of serenity. An escape.

And that’s what Hogwarts needs to be right now: an escape, especially for the so-called ‘eighth year’ students who have returned to the castle in September. The ones who hadn’t been able to finish their final year while the war was raging and Hogwarts had been overrun by Death Eaters. Most of these kids have played a part in the war well beyond what anyone could have expected from them at their age, and now they all seem like they are ninety-nine years old instead of eighteen.

The damage done to the castle during the final battle has been repaired. Actually, the study where Remus is currently residing also had to be rebuilt. If he remembers correctly, it was Dolohov who blasted out the entire east wall of the room while trying to escape capture.

When the headmistress asked him to come back and teach defence, he hadn’t hesitated for a second. He wants to be close to these kids – to _Harry_ , mostly. The only difficult bit is finding a way to keep seeing his little girl as much as possible. Tonks is just as busy as he is, as she is involved in wrapping up most Death Eater cases and _boy_ do some of them get dragged out. Andromeda has been a big help in taking care of their daughter, but Remus is hoping to be able to move his whole family to the castle soon.

He sighs and returns his attention to the Daily Prophet. Another lengthy report on the latest news from the Death Eater trials. The Daily Prophet can hardly be called original, these days. But at least it’s factual. Their new head editor certainly seems to understand that they have to lay low after all the backlash they received when it became clear just how much nonsense the newspaper sprouted for the several years leading up to and during the war. Frankly, Remus thinks the paper is lucky to still be in business.

A knock at the door, just like yesterday and the day before. Remus waves for the door to open. Minerva marches in with a curt nod. Remus just eyes her as she opens a cabinet, takes out a bottle of liquor and two glasses, and seats herself next to Remus. She pours two glasses and slides one over to Remus, who smiles in acknowledgement.

The silence lasts a few moments longer.

“Has he settled in?” Remus asks finally.

Minerva gives another terse nod.

“What’s your impression?”

Minerva looks at her glass, lips pursed. “That he’ll keep his head down.”

“Good.” Remus folds the paper and turns the front page towards her, showing the headline: ‘MALFOY TRIALS BEGIN’.

Minerva sniffs at it, disdainfully. “I have seen it.”

“Apparently he has been court-ordered into therapy.” Remus says, although it comes out more like a question.

“Yes. We’ll make arrangements.”

“Wouldn’t Delilah be a logical option?” Remus suggests. Delilah, firm but gentle, the latest addition to their staff. It’s a little sad that they need an in-house therapist now, but that’s the reality of the situation and the kids all seem to enjoy talking to her.

“It would be,” Minerva agrees. “But the ministry has to approve. They might prefer someone who specializes in.. well..” she trailed off for a moment. “- _that_ kind of therapy.”

Remus smiles at that. “I don’t think it’s that much different from what the others need. Harry.. he is very fond of Delilah.”

Remus watches as Minerva’s eyes trail back to the newspaper, and the picture above it. “The ministry might feel that Mr. Malfoy needs more of a behavioral therapy. ‘Rehab’, as it were.” She finally says.

Remus frowns. “I disagree.”

“So do I. But the therapy is court-ordered, which means it is out of my hands. I have sent an owl to his case manager, suggesting Delilah as a candidate. We’ll hear from them.”

Remus nods, picking the paper up again. Minerva leans back in her chair, eyes closed.

“His mother has been placed under house arrest? And her parental rights are suspended?” Remus asks, paraphrasing from the article.

“Yes. But she is allowed to visit him here every first Friday of the month, for one hour.”

“What about when he finishes school, who will take him in?” Remus asks, wondering if the ministry would let Draco go back to his family home, after most of the wizengamot had seemed to agree that the boy needed to be taken away from the influence of his parents as soon as possible.

“He will be eighteen by then.” Minerva says.*

Remus frowns again. “If they want him to rehabilitate, I hardly think that a few months of therapy will suffice to keep him on the right track after everything he has experienced. They expect him to manage on his own at eighteen?”

Minerva opens her eyes. “I hardly think they _want_ him to rehabilitate.” She states bluntly. “He is a minor, and most other Death Eaters confirmed that he was too scared to do anything at all during the war. The Aurors couldn’t incriminate him, they had to release him. I’ll bet my vault, however, that half the people at the ministry would have jumped at the chance to put him behind bars, and they might just be biding their time until he is of age and makes another mistake. No, Remus - ” she leans forward and sets her glass down. “Keeping him on the right track, that will be up to us.”

Remus looks down, contemplating her words. She is perceptive, as usual, and is probably right. He remembers the endless interrogations of the different Death Eaters who, one by one, spilled the beans on their fellow convicts in exchange for the promise not to get The Kiss. And each of them subsequently proclaiming Draco to be a coward who had been of absolutely no use to the Dark Lord. It had made Remus feel strangely protective of this boy who had been so utterly disrespectful to him in his third year.

“Keep him on the right track. Yes. So how do we go about that?” He wonders.

Minerva waves her hand a little. “Let’s first wait and see how he acts. Around the others. In class. Figure out his mindset. As I said, it seems like he’ll keep his head down, but I’ve only spoken to him for about half an hour, so it’s hard to be sure.”

Remus slowly nods. “His father’s trial starts next week. That will be tough on him.”

“Yes.” Minerva says, crossing her legs and adopting a much more businesslike tone. “And I imagine it will be tough on you, too. I assume Lucius Malfoy’s lawyer will be especially interested in questioning you, regarding the matter of the ‘RED’ evidence?”

Remus nods. “I have already been thoroughly briefed, yes.”

Minerva was right. This trial was probably going to take drag on _forever_.

  
  
_*Canon says a wizard reaches adulthood at 17. I've tweaked it back to 18 because I'd prefer in this story if the kids were not yet legally of age_


	2. Code name RED

Arion Areano is by no means the kind of person who makes a good first impression. Fat, sluggish, sweaty. But the fact that Lucius Malfoy hired him of all people to represent him in court is meaningful enough.

A gavel bangs. People murmur. Remus has been called to the stand. Again. He always finds it interesting to see the court room from this perspective. There is quite a crowd here today. A lot of people who have seen family members or friends killed by Lucius Malfoy, eagerly awaiting justice.

Remus can feel Malfoy staring at him. He knows the man is trying to stare him down, so he doesn’t give him the satisfaction of making eye contact. Instead, he lets his gaze wander to the other Malfoy in the room. Narcissa. She is seated in the front, flanked by Aurors. Remus wonders whether they are there to guard her or to protect her. Probably both. He can see people throw venomous looks her way, but if she notices it she doesn’t let it show on her face, which is devoid of emotion. She is wearing a stoic mask that sort of reminds him of Snape the last time Remus saw him alive.

Ah well – Slytherins.

“Code name ‘Red’.” Areano says.

He slams a file down in front of Remus. For dramatic effect, probably.

“What can you tell us about him?” The lawyer continues.

“What do you want to know?” Remus asks, already feeling the annoyance seeping in.

Areano spreads his hands. “His name is all over the files. He is single-handedly responsible for more than half of the evidence provided in this case. Yet I don’t know where he is. I don’t see him anywhere here. Do _you_ see him anywhere here?”

Remus blinks at him. Looks at the judge, at a reporter, at Narcissa, at Tonks, who is smiling at him from amongst the crowd.

“Well, I suppose not.” He says.

“All I know about this ‘Red’ is that you were his contact, correct?”

“Correct.”

“So who is he?”

“Or she.” Remus corrects him.

Areano lifts an eyebrow. “Well, which is it?”

“I don’t know.” Remus says.

Areano scoffs, faking surprise. He is not very convincing. Remus wonders absent-mindedly what makes this man a good lawyer.

“You have had extensive contacts with ‘Red’, under your own code name ‘Zenith’.” Areano says, as he slowly starts pacing the court room. “You were the one he reported to. You were the link between him and the rest of the order. But even you can’t tell us anything about him?”

“Or her.” Remus reminds him. A few people snigger. The judge frowns at them.

“We had code names for a reason, sir.” Remus starts to explain. Again. “Red and Oslo were our spies from among the Death Eater ranks. Their position was extremely precarious. We communicated on a daily basis through a magical device that morphed their voices. I never knew their true identity, because it could only jeopardize their mission. Similarly, they never knew me as anything other than ‘Zenith’, to ensure that they could never let _our_ information fall into the wrong hands, either.”

“You suspected he was a double spy.” Areano says, latching on to those final words.

“No.” Remus says immediately. “No. I trusted both of them with my live. We all did. and rightly so, for they _have_ actually saved my life, and countless others, on various occasions.”

“Very well,” Areano says, though he looks unsatisfied. “But the war is over, Mr. Lupin. You are not ‘Zenith’ anymore. You are now Professor R.J. Lupin, Hogwarts defence teacher. ‘Oslo’ has been revealed to be the late Professor Severus Snape. So who is ‘Red’?”

“I don’t know,” Remus says.

“Why wouldn’t he just come forth after the end of the war?” Areano continues.

“Or she!” Someone in the audience yells. Others chuckle. Tonks grins. Narcissa purses her lips. The judge bangs her gavel, glaring at them. “I will have order in my court room! None of that childish nonsense! Please proceed.”

Areano clears his throat. Wipes some sweat from his upper lip. “A considerable chunk of evidence against my client was provided by ‘Red’. Yet no-one can tell me who he or she is. Does this person even exist? Was he a double spy? How can we be sure he hasn’t forged this evidence?”

“Forged?” Remus says, incredulously. “Have you even _looked_ at this care, sir? All of the information Red and Oslo provided us with has been thoroughly checked. The actual evidence was collected by us, the order. Red was merely the one who gave us valuable information on where to find this evidence. The crime scenes. The victims. Which curses had been used. There is no forgery involved. AND furthermore-” He continues, talking over Areano who seems to want to interrupt, “-I am highly affronted by your suggestions about Red’s loyalty. As I have previously stated, Red has saved my life, and that of several others, on numerous occasions by providing key information. That includes Harry Potter _himself_. Red’s loyalty has never been questioned by us. He was one of our most valued order members. Your accusations are ungrounded and uncalled for.”

A scatter of applause through the audience.

-

“Uneventful.” Tonks later remarks. The hall is filled with people.

Remus stretches. Huffs. “I can’t stand another minute of this. We all know it’s going to end in a life sentence. Why can’t we just get on with it?”

Tonks shrugs. “That’s what happens when rich people get sued.”

They start moving towards the exit. “You did get a little heated, though.” Tonks remarks after a short silence.

Remus grimaces. “I didn’t intend to.”

“I know. It was quite fun, actually. You rarely lose your calm.”

“I can actually understand how Red seems a little... _abstract_ to some people.” Remus murmurs. “But Red is very real to me. We talked every day for over a year.”

Tonks gives him a searching look. “Do you still try to contact him?”

“Or her.” Remus says, staunchly.

Tonks rolls her eyes. “Oh, drop it. Speaking as a woman, I both appreciate and admire your gender neutral approach. But for the sake of effective communication, can we just say ‘he’? Ninety percent of the Death Eaters are male, anyway, and he must have been one of them.”

“Fine.” Remus concedes, albeit a bit disgruntled. “Yes, I’ve been trying to contact him. Every day. I guess I... I guess that’s the reason why I got a little heated in there. He struck a chord. Why did hell _didn’t_ Red come forward? He pretty much disappeared off the face of the earth.”

Tonks shrugs. “I can sort of understand it, to be honest. It doesn’t sound so awful. He’s probably among the dozens of Death Eaters who fled the country, and currently enjoying his well deserved rest on an island somewhere. I mean, with Dumbledore gone – the only reason we found out that Snape was Oslo is because he was killed in that Rosenstone mess. If he had made it to the end of the war, do you think he would have come forward to claim his Order of Merlin? Fat chance!”

“Hm.” Is the only response Remus gives to that. They have arrived at a fireplace and Remus reaches for floo powder. “Will you travel with me?”

Tonks lifts an eyebrow. “To Hogwarts?”

“Yes. Report to Minerva. Two remember more than one.”

“The papers will remember plenty tomorrow.” Tonks says.

“Don’t start.” Remus sighs, tossing the powder into the flames.


	3. Lieux de mémoire

Blaise Zabini is still a bit of an arse. But at least he doesn’t like talking about the war any more than Harry does. And that’s understandable, given that his mother was killed and his father immediately fled the country after the fall of Voldemort without a word of goodbye to his son, leaving a barely eighteen-year-old Blaise to fend for himself. Which made Zabini senior officially a member of the world’s-worst-parents club.

And so Harry doesn’t mind Blaise partnering with him in potions. Actually, he prefers Blaise over Ron and Hermione, who seem anxious around him lately. Blaise and Draco are the only Slytherins who have returned for their so called ‘eighth year’. Harry supposes it’s too painful for many of the others to return. He can’t think of a single Slytherin in his year who didn’t have a Death Eater in the family somewhere. Draco is only here because he has been forced to go back to school by the Wizengamot, and Blaise is probably just glad to have a roof over his head, considering he has no one to fall back on.

Seamus Finnigan and Susan Bones are chopping ingredients at the table in front of him. Harry thinks they are an item now. He thinks. He heard someone say something. He doesn’t really care. Draco is sitting at the next table. Alone. When Harry looks at Draco, he feels nothing of the fierce hatred he used to. It just feels sort of empty. He had been worried at first, when he heard Draco would be coming back. He didn’t want to fight in hallways anymore. But evidently, neither does the Slytherin. Draco attends classes, sees his therapist, keeps to himself. Padma and Parvati are back, too. They don’t giggle as much as they used to. Sometimes, one of them cries in their common room. Maybe the same one each time, he doesn’t know. Harry usually leaves when it happens. Hermione usually fixes things. He is pretty sure the twins are seeing the therapist, too.

All in all, that makes five Gryffindors back for eighth year. Harry strangely misses Neville, who had preferred to accept the ministry’s offer for a traineeship. Harry knows Hermione and Ron would have liked to take that offer as well, but they are staying at Hogwarts. Because of him. Because they think he is going to fall apart at a sneeze.

Potions has, strangely enough, turned into one of Harry’s favorite subjects. Now that there are no cliques of Slytherins or hateful teachers around, it is actually quite soothing to be able to focus on chopping and stirring. And Pallas Prince is a good teacher. She doesn’t _look_ like a teacher, not even remotely. She must be in her late twenties, with blue and purple highlights in her black hair. She always seems to be frowning, but she always seems to be smiling, too, her eyebrows constantly wandering all over her face. And she is gentle, but not in that condescending way that most teachers are around Harry these days. She couldn’t be more unlike Sn- _no, wait I don’t want to think about – SHUT UP, Harry_.

Harry focuses on his chopping board, blinking away the memories of war and death and more death. “Cut the goosegrass into small bits.” He murmurs to himself. “Cut the goosegrass into small bits. Cut the goosegrass.”

Blaise looks up at him, but doesn’t comment.

-

That afternoon, Harry goes to see Delilah for his biweekly therapy sessions. The Daily Prophet is on the table, as usual. Another lengthy report on the Death Eater trials. Harry picks at the pages. “Moony has been going up and down every day since last Saturday. Between that and teaching, he hardly has time to see his new baby daughter. Why does the whole thing have to take this long?”

Delilah just smiles as she pours tea.

“And why does it have to be front page news _every_ day? Don’t people get bored?” Harry asks.

Delilah gives a half shrug. “As long as they keep uncovering new details... secret code names, order operations.. People love sensation.”

“I guess.” Harry mutters. Delilah slides a cup over to his side, and he nods in thanks. Delilah leans back and picks up her own cup in both hands. “Have you read the article?” she asks.

Harry shakes his head.

“Why not?”

“I.. I don’t know.” Harry says, hesitatingly. “All those stories about the people he has killed.. It just makes me feel like it’s still happening right now.”

“But it’s not happening.” Delilah reminds him. “Lucius Malfoy is being detained, and there’s absolutely no doubt that he will get anything less than a life sentence.”

“I know.” Harry murmurs. “I suppose I don’t really realize it yet.”

“Reading about it might help you realize it.” Delilah says.

Harry nods slightly.

-

Some evenings, like today, Harry takes a stroll through the gardens around the castle. The eighth year students have been working hard on the new flower beds under the watchful eye of Professor Sprout. Harry likes working the soil, but he doesn’t like the idea that the whole project has been set up as a sort of group therapy.

He climbs a hill, using an old wall of the castle as his support, and rounds the corner to end up in a small, hidden-away garden with a few tombstones. Still lost in thought, he meanders through them until he reaches the one he came for: Severus Snape.

Harry sits down next to it, leans back and looks around a little. It is sunny and peaceful. Birds whistle. Flowers dance in the breeze. He cranes his neck to look up at the tower – or rather, what’s left of it. It has partly collapsed and is the only part of the castle that hasn’t been rebuild, remaining here as a monument, a testament, a witness. Harry remembers the fighting in the courtyard, and the fireball that destroyed the tower, the debris raining onto the duelling wizards beneath it.

Here in the gardens, the war seems far away and nearby at once. Harry closes his eyes and tries to relax.


	4. Nova Oriana

The three witches sit around the table. Remus watches them from his place by the fire, cradling his daughter to his chest. They have solemn but determined expressions on their faces as they discuss, and Remus reminds himself that it is thanks to these three that Hogwarts is once again the safe place it was always supposed to be. Minerva has pulled every string she could pull to keep Hogwarts in business, rebuild classrooms, find new staff and above all, assure parents that Hogwarts is now secure. Delilah is seeing not only eighth years, but a fair share of students from other years, on a regular basis. Students seem to be very fond of her. And Pallas has to be a gift sent by Merlin himself, taking on the role of head of Slytherin when no one else wanted to take the job. And she is doing it with so much passion and energy that the gaping chasm that formed between Slytherin and the other houses during the war is now slowly starting to close. Remus knows very little about her past, but has understood that she is actually a distant family member of Severus, which is simultaneously very surprising and not surprising at all.

He looks down at his daughter, Nova. Nova Oriana, which means something like ‘new dawn’. Because that is what she is for him: A sign that life continues after death, that there is always light after darkness.

He looks up again when someone moves towards him. “Has the meeting of the Wayward Sisters come to a close?” He jokes.

Pallas sits down in the chair opposite him and smiles. “I like the way you look at her.”

“How is that?” Remus asks.

“The way a father is supposed to look at his daughter,” She says.

He smiles at that. Nods. “How was Harry today?” He asks.

She frowns. “Withdrawn. He partnered with Blaise again. But they didn’t talk. Delilah says Blaise has been having a bad week.”

Remus could understand that. With the Malfoy trails in full swing, many of the other Death Eater names were being dragged through the mud again, and Zabini was one of them. Apparently, Blaise hadn’t even known his father was still an active Death Eater until the final battle took place at Hogwarts. “I’ll see if I can talk to Harry later today.” He says.

He motions for Pallas to hold the baby if she wants. Her face lights up and she takes the girl from his hands. “Nova Oriana.” She murmurs.

“I told you her full name, did I?” Remus says.

“You must have.”

-

Ron, Seamus and Harry have taken up a corner of their common room to play exploding snap. Professor McGonagall enters and seats herself near them to watch for a while. After a round finishes, Ron tentatively asks her if she would like to join. She accepts, and proceeds to beat the three of them in three consecutive games.

Harry finds himself rather enjoying it. In previous years, having your head of house watch over you would quickly spoil the fun of any game, but after fighting a war together, the teachers seem to treat the eighth years more as equals than as students. He even finds himself willing to discuss a topic he would normally avoid at all cost, especially with his friends sitting next to him. “Can I get leave next week to go to Malfoy’s verdict?” He asks.

McGonagall looks at him with some surprise.

“It was Delilah’s idea,” Harry quickly adds. “And I talked to Remus. He’ll take me.”

“I see,” McGonagall says, carefully. “Of course. Certainly. If you feel it would help.”

“Maybe we can arrange a school trip.” Seamus jokes. “Draco is going, too.”

Harry frowns. “It’s not a joke.”

“Didn’t mean it like that,” Seamus quickly backpedals.

Ron frowns too, but apparently for a different reason. “When did you talk to Malfoy?”

“Draco,” Seamus corrects him. “Uhm. I don’t know – does it matter? The therapisty-woman probably told him to go.”

“Therapisty-woman?” McGonagall echoes.

Seamus smiles sheepishly. “Yeah – uhm – what’s her name. Delia.”

“Delilah,” Ron says. “She’s cool.”

“Cool,” McGonagall says, still looking very unimpressed with their choice of words.

“I just mean, like, she doesn’t drill you or anything. I thought she’d just be asking questions all the time, but it’s not like that,” Ron says.

-

Minerva sits with the boys until the entrance opens again and Draco steps inside; the one she had actually come to see. He seats himself at a table in the far corner without looking at anyone, and Minerva excuses herself to get up and join him.

Draco looks up at her with a guarded expression when she sits down.

“How are you faring?” She asks, keeping her tone light.

“Fine, thank you,” Draco says, perfectly polite.

“I talked to Delilah today. She told me you spent the entire last session explaining the plot to ‘Otto, the Welsh Dragon’.”

Draco just shrugs. “She said I could talk about anything.”

“Yes,” Minerva says, stapling her fingers together. “You do realize we have to report back to the ministry to inform them of your progress?”

Draco leans back in his chair. “Yes ma’am.”

“Make an effort to give us something to report about,” Minerva says, sternly.

“Yes ma’am,” Draco says again, clearly indulging her.

Minerva presses her lips together for a moment as she studies him. Draco seems uncomfortable under the scrutiny, ducking his head to stare at the table top.

“I have also understood that you will be attending the final verdict in your father’s trial,” She finally continues.

A shadow crosses Draco’s face. “Not like I had much of a choice,” he murmurs.

“Did Delilah tell you why she thinks it important that you go?”

Draco doesn’t respond, but Minerva notices his hands are beginning to tremble.

“It’s an attempt to help you, not punish you,” she continues, a bit more gently this time.

Draco seems to struggle for words for a while. “Well – thank you for trying,” he finally says. “I’m not sure if I’m... I mean... A lot of people probably think you put in too much effort.” He subconsciously rubs one hand over the long sleeve that is hiding his dark mark.

“Well, then again, a lot of people are fools,” Minerva states, firmly. “There’s a reason why you are not in Azkaban right now, and if I can help it, you will never end up there at all.”

“Right...” is Draco’s only reply to that.


	5. Oslo

Remus is sitting comfortably in his chair, reading, when a soft tingling catches his attention. He needs a second to identify this noise that he hasn’t heard for months now. But then, realizing what it is, he jumps up and rushes towards the softly glowing stone that is lying in a small box on his desk.

He reaches out, lingering for a second, making sure he isn’t fooling himself, then lays his hand on top of the Tourmaline stone. “Red?” He asks hopefully.

He listens intently, but there is no response. His stomach is clenching in knots.

“Red,” he tries again.

“Zenith,” a voice breaks through. Remus lets out a long, relieved breath and sinks into the chair, careful never to break contact with the stone. “Merlin on a pogo-stick.. Where the hell have you been?”

No response.

Remus bites his lip. “Red. Are you in trouble?”

“I just..” Red’s voice sounds wobbly, even while being morphed. “I just signed in to say ... it’s over, you know, and I don’t... I don’t want any of the aftermath.”

“What are you talking about?” Remus asks, frowning. “Where are you?”

“I’m – just – I’m fine. I left.”

“You left the country?”

“Yes.”

Remus shakes his head, laughing a little in disbelief. “Red – they want to award you the highest order of Merlin.”

“I don’t _want_ that,” Red says. “I just want to forget. As quickly as I can.”

Remus laughs without humour. “Forget.”

-

He remembers the day when everything changed. He remembers thundering down the stairs of their headquarters after portkeying back in. He called out for Molly. She appeared downstairs in the hallway. Her pale features showed that she immediately understood that something was wrong.

“What happened?”

“The Rosenstone attack,” Remus panted. “It happened early – we weren’t prepared.”

“Who is injured?”

“Bill.”

“Lead the way.”

He remembers the blood. So much blood.

“Molly, he’s bad – if you need someone else to do it - ”

“Lead the way,” she repeated, more insistent.

They hurried up the stairs as Remus filled her in. “Unidentified curse, left a few deep gashes, none of our spells are working. He is losing blood, quickly.”

Suddenly, that tinkling sound. Remus came to a full stop. “I – I have to take that. We put him in the room with that large tapistry, it’s the-”

“I’ve got it. Go ahead,” her face set, she continued up the stairs.

Remus thundered back downstairs, fumbling with a small box in his pocket. “Alastor. ALASTOR!”

Chaos. His head was spinning.

“In here!” A growl from the next room.

“Oslo is calling!” He raced into the room, opening the box with a murmured spell. He screeched to a halt next to a low table and sat down, putting his hand on the glowing stone.

Please let it be at least some good news.

“Oslo?”

At first, only a shaky breath. “It’s – it’s Red,” the voice finally announced.

“Red? What happened?” Remus asked intently.

“Just.. real fucking mess,” Red sounded as distressed as Remus felt. “Are you all... any casualties on your side?”

“Some,” Remus said. “Where is Oslo?”

“Dead.”

Both Remus and Moody froze in place.

“I – he – can you get his body? They just... they just left it out there,” Red pleaded.

“We... of course.” Remus replied, trying to find words that would somehow offer some comfort.

Moody, however, only had business on his mind. “Is your position compromised?” He barked.

A short silence.

“No,” Red said, the voice sounding suddenly steady. “I’m ready to step in.”

“Good man!” Moody grabbed his cane and marched to the door. “I’ll go settle this mess then, best as I can.”

Remus blinked at the sudden departure, then tried to think of more things to say. Oslo had always been his main contact, with Red operating on the side. Everything was going to be different from now on. “Red – I’m sorry, we should discuss..”

“I have to go.” Red interrupted him. “Don’t want them to wonder. We’ll discuss the details later, all right? Just... just go get him please.”

“I promise,” Remus said.

And at that, the stone had stopped glowing.

-

Shaken from the memory, Remus sits down in the window sill, looking out over the grounds, the Tourmaline stone still in his hand. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course,” Red says, with a little laugh.

“I think you need help,” Remus soldiers on. “We’ve all been through hell. I can’t imagine dealing with this aftermath all by myself, let alone for someone who has been right under Voldemort’s nose the whole time.”

“Zenith..”

“And what about Oslo? Severus? He’s buried here.”

“Yes. Thank you for that, Zenith. Remus. Thank you. For everything,” Red’s voice sounds stable. Controlled. “Now, please. I don’t want any order of Merlin. I just want one favor. To be left in peace.”

A short silence as Remus contemplates what to say next. “You know,” he says slowly. “It’s not exactly fair that you get to call me Remus, and I’ll never get to call you anything other than Red.”

Another short silence.

“Take care of your little girl for me,” Red says.

The stone stops glowing.

Remus sags back in his chair, swearing softly.


	6. and the Woman Clothed with the Sun

Remus enters the courtroom, a hand on Harry’s back. He immediately wants to move towards his usual seats in the front, but feels a tug at his arm. He looks back at Harry, who is chewing his bottom lip nervously.

“Uhm.. Could we sit in the back a little? I want to be able to leave if I need to,” he mutters uncomfortably, glancing sideways at the people around them.

Remus just nods and they sit down near the door. Remus eyes Harry, who is nervously scratching the seat in front of him with his fingernail. “You think you might experience some.. problems?”

Harry lets out a long breath. “I don’t know. The newspaper articles freak me out plenty already. I have no idea what will happen when I see him up close.”

Remus nods, rubbing circles on Harry’s back. He lets his gaze wander around the court room. He has been here so many times now, testified in so many cases, always answering the same questions about the evidence gathered by Oslo and Red. Lucius Malfoy’s case had been dragged out as long as possible, and Remus had been called to testify on three separate occasions. Areano had done everything he could, but now could no longer delay the inevitable. The day of the verdict has come.

He spots Draco, sitting at the other end of the room with his mother. Their rows are angled in such a way that Remus can see Draco’s pale face and red-rimmed eyes as he sits hunched in his seat, staring at his hands. Narcissa, next to him, looks as unperturbed as ever. She has never missed a day of trial, and apparently still holds enough influence to convince the ministry to lift her house arrest for each separate occasion. She sits up straight, statuesque, the stoic mask firmly in place. Her dress is white and gold, as if she were at a wedding rather than a trial. The only sign that she is even aware of other people around her, is that she has put her left hand on Draco’s knee.

Remus jolts a little when suddenly, she makes direct eye contact with him. She looks at him, at Harry next to him, back at him, and then actually sends him a tiny smile. A little shocked, Remus finally responds with a nod. He is aware of their similar situation; both trying to calm the nervous teenagers beside them, who are only here because their therapist told them to be.

“Bringing in the suspect!” The booming voice of an Auror announces.

The large doors open, people hiss, some curse quietly. Lucius Malfoy, looking as arrogant as ever, struts into the courtroom, flanked by aurors. The gavel bangs again and someone is talking, but Remus doesn’t listen because he has noticed Harry’s ashen face and sped up breath next to him. “Harry, are you all right?”

Taking another deep breath, Harry shakes his head.

“Let’s go then.” Remus says, calmly. He takes Harry by the arm. People look up, but Remus ignores them as he steers Harry towards the door.

-

The elevator bell dings as the doors slide shut. Harry releases a long breath and sags against the wall.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Remus suggests.

Harry runs a head through his hair. “No. I’m all right now. I’m all right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I... I can’t even _look_ at him?”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Remus assures him. “You need to give yourself some time. Talk to Delilah when we get back, okay?”

Harry nods slowly. The elevator door opens into the atrium and they exit and start walking down the hall.

“You can go back in to see the rest, if you want,” Harry offers, feeling a little guilty. “I can just wait down here.”

“Don’t be silly,” Remus waves his hand at him. “I’ll take you back to Hogwarts. If you wait down here, you’ll just get people fawning all over you once they recognize you.”

Harry smiles a little. Thinks. “Hey – what about Draco? How did he get here?”

“His casewitch brought him.”

“His who?”

“His casewitch. A ministry official assigned to his case until he is of age. Which will be in less than two weeks, I believe.” Saying those words out loud, Remus suddenly finds himself wondering if anything will change once Draco turns eighteen. He should ask Minerva.

“Huh,” Harry simply says. “He didn’t look too good.”

“Understandable.”

Harry chews his bottom lip, then confesses; “I wish Malfoy had just — I mean Lucius Malfoy — I wish he had just looked a little worse too, you know? I mean... he just looked bored.”

“So let him look bored,” Remus says. “It’s just a facade. Does it matter when he goes to prison for life?”

“I just.. I need to know that it’s all over. But when he looks like that, it just seems like nothing has changed. He looks like..” Harry takes a deep breath before voicing his fears. “I just can’t shake the feeling that he’s going to get away with it again.”

“Not this time,” Remus promises him. “I know that was his position in the past, but he holds nothing of that former influence. You will see once you read tomorrow’s prophet.”

“I hope so,” Harry murmurs. “It just feels like.... ever since Voldemort died everyone has just been celebrating and moving on as though everything is fine. And I just feel on edge all the time. It’s exhausting.”

“Then, rest.” Remus emphasizes. “Don’t get angry at yourself for feeling this way. It’s okay to be exhausted after everything. You’ve been told that you were responsible for the fate of our world since you were eleven years old. You’ve done more than we could ever have asked of you. Rest.”

“But what if he does get off? What if the Death Eaters abroad are just regrouping? What if one of them figures out how to make a horcrux? And don’t tell me none of that is going to happen, because I’m tired of people telling me that everything will be fine when it won’t be.”

“It’s not _just_ going to be fine,” Remus agrees. “The bad guy dies and then it’s just flowers and sunshine? That’s not how the world works. But here’s the thing: you’re _not_ responsible for the faith of our world. Maybe you were destined to face down Voldemort, but evil doesn’t just go away. There will always be bad people doing bad things. But luckily, there will always be people who want to do the right thing, too. So let someone else worry about Death Eaters and dark magic. And _rest_.”

Harry looks at the floor, blinking fast. “Okay. I’ll try.”

-

“It seemed like a good idea to me to discuss the day’s events together,” Delilah announces as she pours Draco a cup of tea.

Draco is sitting on the couch, looking calm and collected, arms and legs folded and clothes in pristine condition, as always. “I’m sure your other favourite patient has told you all about it.” He says, a slight censure to his tone.

Delilah smiles. “Well, you know how I like to hear stories from different perspectives.”

Draco smiles back politely, but doesn’t say anything.

“How has the day been for you?” Delilah prods.

“Quite long,” Draco says, adopting the same airy tone he always does in their sessions. “I would be sleeping in tomorrow.. except that I don’t sleep in.”

“Why not?”

Draco wipes some imaginary dust off his suit. “Just like I take the exact same walk across the grounds every day. I’m a creature of habit.”

“Walking is good,” Delilah says. “It clears the head.”

“Not really.”

A short silence falls between them.

“So. Long day,” Delilah continues. “Tell me more.”

Draco smirks slightly and folds his hands. “Well. I started the day with some reading. Do you know the novel ’99 turns of time’?

Delilah knows exactly where this is going. “Vaguely,” she says, a little exasperated.

Draco sits forward. “Then, let me tell you all about it.”

-

“ _Nothing_ about the trial?” Minerva asks when the two of them converge in the teachers’ lounge later.

“I tried,” Delilah says. “He made a few remarks. Said it was nice to see his mother. He even commented on the weather.”

Minerva can’t help but chuckle.

“But he simply won’t discuss anything that actually matters,” Delilah finishes with a frown.

“Such as?”

Delilah makes a vague gesture. “His mindset. His ideas about right and wrong. What he thinks about his father’s actions. The things he did during the war. He is a minor, but he was a Death Eater. I simply don’t believe he got through those two years without being involve in one thing or another.”

“’Involved’ is a broad term.” Minerva just says.

“Which is why I’m trying to narrow it down. His avoidance is becoming a concern. And the way he reacts sometimes... His expressions... I keep getting the feeling that there’s more to it.”

“More,” Minerva repeats.

Delilah hesitates, then voices what she _knows_ is true. “He has done some things that he doesn’t want anyone to know about.”

“No doubt,” Minerva murmurs.

“Doesn’t anyone think the matter should be looked into?”

“The matter _has_ been looked into, and the ministry has seen no reason to charge him,” Minerva reminds her. “Now, _if_ you find incriminating evidence, that is of course of great importance. But as long as we’re only guessing, no one will want to re-open his case.”

Delilah lets out a slow breath, then nods. “I understand that I cannot expect anyone to act on a hunch.” She looks up from her clasped hands, a warning in her eyes. “But my hunches are usually good.”


	7. It's family

“You guys coming to my house for Christmas?” Ron asks when they walk down to breakfast the next morning.

“Oh - I’m celebrating with my parents,” Hermione says. “But I’ll be around for New Years. I prefer the wizarding fireworks. More colours, less noise.”

“What about you, Harry?” Ron asks, his tone slightly too nonchalant.

“Uhm – I don’t know,” Harry says, evasively. Spending Christmas with Ron means going to the Burrrow. Going to the Burrow means confrontation with a lot of people he hasn’t seen since.. well, whoever’s funeral was the last one. He sees his two friends exchange a look from the corner of his eye and annoyance starts bubbling up in his chest. Is it really that strange that he wants to be alone for a few freaking days? What do they think he’ll do – jump off the astronomy tower?

Before any of them can say anything, however, Remus suddenly pops up in front of them. He looks very pleased. “Morning. Seen the papers yet?”

“No,” Harry says warily.

With a grin, Remus holds the Daily Prophet up to show the headline: ‘RED’ PUTS MALFOY AWAY.

“Sentenced to life.”

“Wow, really?” Harry breathes as he grips the newspaper. He swallows as he reads how Malfoy was found guilty on every single count. His throat feels inexplicably tight. He is not sure why the article almost makes him want to cry, but somehow it finally feels like this is the end of something. No double agendas from the ministry, no lies from the press, no excuses. It seems that finally, everyone _really_ agrees on who the bad guys are. Harry doesn’t fool himself that this will suddenly make all his bad feelings go away, but it’s a start.

-

Draco is keeping his distance from the other eighth years, as usual. But it seems like he can’t completely escape their attention this morning.

“Look, Draco, they got a little snap of you, too!” Blaise calls out, turning the paper to Draco. Draco looks up from his breakfast and eyes the screaming headline, and one of the smaller pictures beneath it that Blaise is pointing at.

He yanks the paper from Blaise’s hands and throws it at his head.

“Merlin, calm down!” Blaise yelps. But Draco already got up and walks away from them.

“Didn’t mean nothing by it!” Blaise calls after him, then turns back to the others.

Seamus sneers at him. “Don’t be such a dick, Blaise.” He leaves the table and runs after Draco.

Blaise looks around. “ME? I wasn’t the one playing host for You-Know-Who during the war!”

The others at the table just kind of stare at him.

Seamus catches up with Draco close to the door. “Are you okay?”

Draco halts, then slowly shakes his head, looking at the ground.

“Uhm – want to go for a walk or something?” Seamus offers.

Voices. They turn to see Remus with Harry, Ron and Hermione approaching. Harry is still holding the newspaper and looks absolutely elated.

“Yeah,” Draco says, his voice thick. “But I’m just.. I’m going by myself. Thanks, though – Seamus.” He practically flees the great hall.

Seamus sneers at Blaise again when he sits back down. Blaise looks annoyed and shrugs innocently.

Remus joins them, which is nice, and they talk about the article, which is also nice. They discuss Red, Snape, Areano and the final verdict. Several fellow eighth years are immensely relieved to see justice. Padma cries again and says she wants him to rot away in jail.

So all in all, it’s just as well that Draco isn’t there.

-

When Remus finally gets up to leave for his first class, he hears footsteps follow him down the hallway. He turns and sees Blaise nervously halting in his steps behind him.

“Blaise – Can I help you?”

“I just..” Blaise murmurs, wringing his hands. “You mentioned he left the country. And this might sound stupid but my dad.. You know.. growing up he always said how being a Death Eater in the first war had been a big mistake. But then he goes and does it again? Maybe he... maybe he tried to help this time? Maybe it’s him. Red.”

Remus blinks as Blaise’s jumbled explanation finally starts making sense. His heart aches for the young man in front of him, who so desperately wants his father to come out as the good guy. “You know – Blaise... I...” He sighs, rubbing his forehead and wondering how to best deal with this. “It’s not an impossibility,” he finally says. “But I also don’t want you to get your hopes up. Dozens of Death Eaters have fled the country. Any one of them could be Red. And... don’t you think he would have just stayed and told everyone it was him? That way, he could have stayed with you.”

Blaise frowns. “I guess,” he says slowly. “So I suppose it’s best if he’s not Red. At least then he had a good reason to just up and leave.” The resentment is clear in his voice.

“Do you ever talk to Delilah?” Remus asks carefully.

“No,” Blaise scrunches up his nose. “I don’t like her. She’s creepy. I talk to Professor Prince, sometimes.”

Remus lifts an eyebrow. He had never heard any student classify Delilah as ‘creepy’. Then again, therapists are often a bit scary, aren’t they? “You get along with Professor Prince, then?”

“Yeah. She’s bonkers. Which is good. You know she is Professor Snape’s niece? I don’t know why, but it’s weird to picture Professor Snape as a man who has family.”

Remus smiles. “Yes, she did seem to drop out of the sky, hm? And I actually thought she was a more distant family member?”

“Uhm. First cousin, once removed, I think. Something like that. Anyway, I still don’t really think my father did all those things. But if he really did, he should be in jail,” Blaises continues, steely-eyed. “And I won’t be moping around about it like Draco is.”

“Don’t presume to judge others for their emotions, Blaise,” Remus gently rebukes him. “We all have to deal with the aftermath of the war, and it’s tough on every one of us.”

Blaise shoves his hands in his pockets, looking mildly guilty. “Lucius Malfoy killed my mum, though,” he mutters.

“I know,” Remus says. “But if you’ll remember all the testimonies from the last few months, Draco’s involvement in Death Eater activities was very limited.”

“Yeah,” Blaise says dully. “I remember. They all said he was wetting his pants whenever the Dark Lord looked his way.”

“Which is a good thing,” Remus reminds him, feeling that surge of protectiveness again. “Because it means that he _didn’t_ want to be there.”

“Fine,” Blaise says. “Fiiinnne. I’ll talk to him like a normal person.”

“Sounds excellent.”


	8. Walking together

Remus is standing at the edge of the black lake. He has taken the little box out of his pocket and it is lying open in his hand. The Tourmaline stone stares back at him, almost seems to be mocking him. It doesn’t glow. Remus can’t shake the feeling that it will never glow again. He closes the box and gazes across the lake, letting the sound of the wind and the splashing water sooth him.

After a while, he notices something across the lake. Someone moving in the forest. A wisp of blond hair through the trees, and Remus realizes who it is.

After the defeat of Voldemort, Remus had been the one to arrest Draco, although really he doesn’t have the authority to ‘arrest’, so it had technically been more of a kidnapping. When their plan to defeat Voldemort had succeeded, the order immediately pushed through and laid siege on Malfoy Manor, the Death Eater headquarters. Or, at least, they had come fully prepared to lay siege, but Narcissa simply opened the door to them and even offered them tea. Remus had found Draco crying in the bedroom. Apart from them, the manor was deserted. Remus had realized that the Aurors who were sure to arrive soon after would be a lot less temperate. Some of them could be quite sadistic at times, Remus knew from experience. Arresting and taking Draco had, at that point, been partly to protect the boy.

He doubts that Draco sees it that way, however. The snow creaks under his boots as he trails along the edge of the forest until Draco comes in sight at the end of the path.

“Draco!” He calls out, somewhat cautiously.

Draco stops, turns. There was a frown on his face, Remus recognizes, but it melts away immediately when he sees who it is.

“Forbidden forest, hm?” Remus says, as he approaches the boy until he is right next to him.

Draco smiles. “I’m staying near the edge.”

“I never see you at breakfast anymore,” Remus says with a questioning tone.

Draco gives a dismissive shrug. “Yes...”

“Do you mind if I walk with you?” Remus asks, painfully aware that he has hardly exchanged two words with Draco before today.

“No,” Draco replies, easily.

Remus is slightly surprised at the quick acquiescence, but nods and walks next to Draco.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you for days,” Remus confesses. “Ever since the trial.”

“What do you need?” Draco asks, obligingly. There is no hint of anger or resentment in his voice.

“Just to talk. You’re turning eighteen in a few days right?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re not leaving us, are you?”

Draco glances sideways at him. “You’re the first person to ask me that.”

Remus frowns. “Really? Delilah didn’t bring it up?”

Draco shrugs. “Either it doesn’t occur to her that I would be leaving, or she’d be glad to get rid of me.”

“Well, we don’t want you to leave,” Remus assures him. “You’re _not_ leaving, are you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Draco asks, an edge to his voice.

Remus looks back around to the castle, now barely visible through the trees. “Finish your education.”

Draco smirks. “Right. To increase my chances on the job market? With _my_ last name?”

Remus understands his point – but still. “What was your plan, then?”

“Go to New Zealand.”

Remus blinks. “Wow. Okay, that _is_ a plan.”

“Uhuh.”

Remus wrecks his brain. “But, erm, the other eighth year students are okay with you, aren’t they?”

Draco seems to contemplate that for a bit. “Yes. Most of them are.”

“Just...” Remus hesitates, looking for the right words. “I really want you to stay here. Will you think about it? All that’s out there is the real world. The real world is never easy. Not here, and not in New Zealand. Alone. At eighteen.”

Draco pauses and looks at him for a while. There is a emotion swirling in his eyes, but Remus can’t make out what it is. “I’ll think about it,” Draco finally says.

Remus nods. “Good.”

They continue on.

-

Somewhere else on the grounds, another unlikely couple is trudging through the snow. Harry silently looks at his feet kicking at the powdery white as he walks besides Professor Prince. They had run into each other in the tiny graveyard, in front of Snape’s tombstone, which is kind of an uncomfortable place to make conversation as far as Harry is concerned. Even now, on their way back, he is awkwardly trying to come up with something appropriate to say.

“You don’t have to say nice things about him,” Professor Prince says. “I knew he wasn’t an easy person to deal with. We sometimes went years without seeing each other. Although that was partly my fault; all those years living abroad.”

Harry thinks about that for a while. “I can’t say I liked him, no,” he finally says. “But I respect him.”

Professor Prince smiles through her frown, as usual, and Harry wonders if this is what it would have looked like if Snape had smiled. And then randomly finds himself wondering if Snape had ever smiled, even once in his whole life?

“I must say, I was surprised to see you remaining behind for Christmas break,” Professor Prince says. “Mr Weasley invited you to his house, I believe. And I know Remus invited you to spend Christmas at his home, as well.”

Harry just mumbles something inaudible. He doesn’t really want to be prodded about the subject again. Ron, Hermione, Remus, Delilah and even Professor McGonagall have all been trying to broach the same topic in various supposedly-subtle ways. _But wouldn’t you like to... But I’d miss you if you weren’t..._

No, no Christmas for him this year. He doesn’t feel like there’s anything to celebrate. “I just don’t want to let my guard down. There’s still Death Eaters out there who have escaped arrest. And Death Eater sympathizers who haven’t done enough bad things to be arrested. It’s a matter of time before they try something.”

“They won’t,” Professor Prince says, her tone quite certain. “The ones who fled have nothing left to fight for, not to mention they are scattered all over Europe. And the ministry is on their tail; most of them will be caught before they can even get their bearings, let alone organise some sort of uprising.”

Harry appreciates her saying it to try and make him feel better, but also realizes that there’s no way she can know this for sure. She only came back to England last summer after being offered a job at Hogwarts. She couldn’t possibly know what the war was like, not really.

-

“I noticed you and Draco Malfoy taking a little walk today,” Delilah comments to Remus that evening.

“Oh – well, yes,” Remus replies, looking up as she seats herself opposite him, a serious look on her face.

“Are you sure that’s wise? Given your involvement in his father’s arrest?” She asks.

“What, you think he wants to take revenge on me?” Remus chuckles a little, but Delilah just frowns, concerned.

Remus’ smile drops, and he adopts a more serious tone. “Delilah, the whole reason we took the boy in, was so that he’d have a chance to turn his life around. I think talking to him is important to achieve this. Surely as his therapist, you see the value in that?”

“I do,” Delilah assures him. “And I admire you for reaching out to him. But out on the grounds, alone with him?”

Remus waves her concerns away. “Sure, I’ll be careful. But I know I have nothing to worry about. He was friendly enough today. He’s not a bad kid.”

Delilah just bites her lip.


	9. The seven locks

Draco feels like he might throw up at any moment now, he really does. He has been stuck in this tower with his mother for almost half an hour now, and all she does is drone on and on about Lucius and his _mistakes_.

“Mother, Humphrey Belcher’s attempt to sell cauldrons made of cheese was a mistake,” he sneers. “What Lucius has done doesn’t exactly fall into the same category, I would say.”

“You seem to be willing to follow in his footsteps,” Narcissa says with a sharp voice.

Draco silences and just eyes his mother for a while. “Is that right?” He finally says.

Narcissa gives him a long, inscrutable look. “Why won’t you ever come with me to visit your father, Draco?” She asks. “I visit him every month. He asks for you.”

“Are you changing the subject, or building up to something?” Draco snaps. Narcissa merely gives him a frosty look, like she always does when he is rude, until he looks away.

“It’s the way he talks about you that concerns me,” Narcissa continues. “As if you are his lifeline. He asks me to convey messages to you. They are always cryptic, but they are always saying that you should persevere. He seems to think that you are somehow going to turn everything around.”

“I doubt he has that much faith in me.”

“Why don’t _you_ tell _me_ exactly how much faith he has in you?” Narcissa’s eyes bore into his. “What is it, Draco? What has he asked of you? I know it must be something, and whatever it is, I must implore that you don’t do it. That you don’t even try.”

Something flickers in Draco’s eyes, before he schools his expression into a bored one. “He hasn’t asked me anything mother. If you are so convinced there is a plot afoot, why don’t you ask him straight up during one of you little visits?”

“Oh, I know he will never tell me,” Narcissa’s voice is bitter. “Not after I tried to interfere in the last suicidal mission they sent you on. The fact that you certainly would have died without Severus’ intervention is irrelevant to him. And the fact that Severus finished the job for you that night on the astronomy tower abhors him, because he believes Severus chose the wrong side. But there are no sides in family, not even in war. If _that_ is betrayal in his eyes, then...” She trails off and looks back at Draco. “Family _always_ comes first, Dragon. So I need you to trust me, and I need you to tell me what he told you. I can help. I can help...”

“I. don’t. need. help.” Draco says in clipped tones.

Narcissa gives a watery smile. “Just like you didn’t need help last time? When you were sixteen and terrified? I know being scared doesn’t feel like something to be proud of, but a scared person still has a sense of right and wrong. You father lost that sense a long time ago. You are eighteen now, and your own man. Don’t make Lucius’ mistakes your own. Especially considering.. I mean.. Draco, there’s things that you are too young to understand, but in time I will be able to tell you-”

Those words make anger suddenly flare up inside Draco. He sits up straight and looks his mother dead in the eye. “Mother, _spare_ me your lectures. I am quite serious. I cannot sit here and listen to this any longer. You don’t know my mind, so do not tell me what I do or do not understand. Now, if you want to _talk_ to me, leave the war out of it, and leave Lucius out of it.”

Narcissa draws in a breath. “What else should I talk to you about?”

“I don’t know. Think of something, or leave.” His face is hard. Narcissa’s is anguished. She starts to say something, stops, and then suddenly lets out a little sob.

Draco hisses in annoyance as his mother buries her face in her hands and cries. He gets up and simply leaves the room, slamming the door and leaving Narcissa crying on the sofa.

-

“I want to try something new,” Delilah says one morning, once Draco has finished his tea. “It’s a meditation, a very common muggle technique to relax. I need you to lie down, close your eyes, and let my voice guide you.”

Draco rubs his forehead with a deep sigh. “I’m feeling rather tired. I might fall asleep on you.”

“That’s quite all right,” Delilah assures with a smile. She waves her wand and the sound of waves rolling in fill the room.

Draco’s head hits the pillow. He doesn’t even remember Delilah beginning to talk.

The waves crashed against the sand.

It was dark. A small fire casted long shadows across the beach. Draco was standing a few yards away from it, pacing nervously.

Yaxley was sitting next to the fire, eyeing him with annoyance. “Why are you being so paranoid?” He barked. “There is no one around.”

“How would you know? People can see us from miles away!” Draco snapped.

“It’s fucking freezing and it’s fucking dark. I need a fire,” Yaxley growled.

“Stupid idiot,” Draco murmured.

Yaxley stood up and approached him. “Did you say something?”

Draco swallowed and stepped away a little, ducking his head. “J-just.. if the whole mission is compromised because of your s-stupid fire, don’t expect me to accept any blame.”

“Oohooh, don’t worry!” Yaxley spit in the sand. “I expect no such thing from the likes of you. Why the Dark Lord would send you along on this is a damn mystery to me. Judging from what I heard from Greyback, I’m lucky not to have to deal with a goddamn panic attack from you right now.”

Draco lifted his chin. “Perhaps the Dark Lord sent me along because lately _you’re_ the one who is screwing up.”

“DON’T bring that whole Rosenstone debacle into this!” Yaxley snarled. “It was a set-up, I still stand by that. They knew we were coming. Probably your stupid mother blabbing about it to the wrong person like the gossip queen she is.”

“Don’t talk about her like that!” Draco yelled, shrilly. Yaxley suddenly grabbed him by the arm in a steel grip. Draco went rigid and tried to twist away. “Let go!”

Yaxley’s voice was a deadly whisper. “You have quite a smart mouth on you for someone who throws up whenever he sees blood. What – you think just because I screw one up, you’re suddenly no longer the bitch of the group? You’re an embarrassment.. scared of your own shadow. Too squeamish to even deal with the bodies properly.”

“I _deal_ with the bodies,” Draco protested, voice trembling.

“You’re going to cry now?” Yaxley jeered.

“Let go of me!”

Yaxley sniffed. “Pathetic.” He gave Draco a little push and Draco tumbled to the ground.

Yaxley pulled his coat tighter around him and sat back down. “Just do me one favour and shut your mouth for the rest of the night. I’m here to stand guard, not listen to your whining.”

“Draco.”

“Draco?”

When the haze lifts, Draco isn’t even sure how much time has passed. “I did say I would fall asleep.”

“Quite all right.” Delilah says. “I suppose you needed it. Did you not sleep well, last night?”

Draco avoids the question by eyeing the clock.“You let me sleep through the whole session?”

Delilah smiles as she seats herself on the other side of the room. “We’ll try again another time.”

Draco blinks. “All right. I will see you Saturday, then?” He grabs his bag and stands up.

He politely shakes Delilah’s hand like he does after every session. Even though he despises her.

-

Nova gurgles.

“I’m not usually in favour of having babies during an order meeting,” Alastor complains.

“Shut it, Alastor, she’s an honorary member,” Tonks says, smirking.

‘Order meetings’. Now that the war is over, that has become the code word for simply getting together with old friends and cracking open a bottle of firewhiskey. Kingsley has graced them with his presence this evening, which is a rare occurrence now that he is their new minister of magic.

“Oh, very well.” Alastor says. “If she is an honorary member, I suppose she'll want a swig of this.” He wiggles his glass. “Old enough for your first drink, little Nena?”

“Seriously, Madeye, it’s _Nova_. Nova Oriana! Do you know how long it took us to agree on a name?”

“You didn’t agree on anything,” Madeye snorts. “You just disagreed on everything and then let our favourite secret spy come up with the name. Never mind that the two-way Tourmaline was meant solely for confidential communication, not for family gossip.”

“Shut it, Alastor.” Tonks says again. “Red gave her the perfect name. And get that glass the hell away from her before I pour it over your head.”

Remus clears his throat. “Speaking of Red, I actually do have a more official request tonight.” He directs himself at Kingsley. “I was wondering if the Order is still investing time in trying to find Red’s identity.”

Kingsley puts his glass down and throws Remus a calculating look. “No,” he says evenly. “But the ministry is. Which is confidential information. But there you go.” He sends a quick, warning look at Tonks and Madeye, who both nod in understanding.

Remus frowns. “The ministry wants to know who _our_ spy was?”

Kingsley gives a mild shrug. “The ministry always wants to control everything, which is part of their problem. They didn’t come out of the war looking great, and they think solving these kinds of questions will improve their reputation.”

“ _You’re_ the Minister of Magic.” Remus says.

Kingsley smirks at him. “Yes, I do seem to remember that. I can’t change the inner workings of the ministry’s bureaucracy or mentality overnight, however. I’m working on it.”

“But you _can_ tell them to stop looking,” Remus pointed out. “That’s a simple order you can issue.”

Kingsley lifts his eyebrows at him. “You don’t want to find out who he is? After everything?”

Remus sighs a deep sigh and studies his hands for a moment. “Red’s information has won us the war,” he says. “Everything Dumbledore so carefully planned – we would never have known that without Oslo and Red. We would never have found Gryffindor’s sword, or gained access to Bellatrix’ vault, or.. or known that Harry was a bloody Horcrux himself! And now it’s over, and Red doesn’t want to be found. That was made clear to me. And I want to respect that decision. After everything.”

A silence descends in the room, while everyone stares at their glasses in silent contemplation. Finally, Kingsley downs the last of his whiskey, sighs and nods. “That seems like a request we should honour. After everything.”

Alastor raises his glass. “Wherever that son of a bitch is, I hope he’s OK.”

Remus smiles and raises his glass, too.


	10. The past is unpredictable

The next morning, Remus finds himself very content as he sits at the staff table, overlooking the students at their breakfast. They look relaxed, happy, mischievous, some of them a little rebellious. Exactly the way a bunch of teenagers should look. Last night had felt like the end of a chapter and this morning, the war feels far away.

The post arrives, and the delighted shrieks from students who get letters from home or parcels dropped on their head only adds to the atmosphere in the room.

But then, slowly, Remus becomes aware of something shifting in the air. Here and there, excited murmurs raise from the tables. Remus watches with some trepidation how a whole group at the Hufflepuff table huddles around a newspaper.

He turns to the owl that has landed next to him with a Daily Prophet. “What’s the great news, then?”

He takes the newspaper from its outstretched leg and eyes the front page, his smile falling immediately. The headline screams: _‘RED’ IDENTITY DISCOVERED; Daily Prophet exclusive reveal_.

Remus immediately smoothens out the front page and looks straight at the sharp features of Draco Malfoy, whose picture is plastered underneath the headline.

Remus swallows, and exchanges a startled look with a flabbergasted Minerva. She looks at the eighth years’ table, and Remus follows her gaze, but they both already know; Draco is not at breakfast.

-

Instead, Draco is sitting by Severus’ grave, shaken from his musing when a voice pipes up behind him. “Mind if I join you?”

Draco looks up at Harry, who is standing a few meters away. He waves a little ‘go ahead’.

Harry smiles. “Okay. I won’t talk to you or anything.”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”

Harry flushes as he moves forward to sit down. “I didn’t mean I don’t want to. Just.. I don’t want to bother you.

“Hm,” Draco says, looking Harry up and down. “It’s strange that you should visit his grave. I mean, he positively _hated_ you.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, dryly. “Well, strange as it may seem, he _is_ important to me.”

Draco just nods.

An owl lands next to Harry, carrying the Daily Prophet. Harry looks up. “Right... thanks,” he mutters, putting the paper down next to him and resting his chin on his knees.

Both of them sink back into silence, which Draco breaks after a while. “Do you know he used you as a metaphor? Whenever we asked a favour of him he didn’t like: ‘I’d rather award ten points to Potter’.” He gives an eerie impression of Snape’s nasal voice.

Harry just shakes his head. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t know,” Draco murmurs. “I guess I’m not good at making small talk.”

“I told you, you don’t have to.”

“Yes, but it’s weird to just sit in silence.”

Harry fiddles with the newspaper as he thinks. “Do you... do you want to talk about the war?” He offers.

Draco freezes, his eyes flitting around Harry’s face. “I don’t, actually.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Draco keeps looking at him, with a hint of curiosity. “Why would you want to discuss the war with _me_? We were on different sides.”

“Of the same war.” Harry says. “And even seeing the same therapist now.”

“You lost a lot of people.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Hm,” Draco says. And then: “It’s nice that people seem to think that.”

“You’ll have to talk about the war eventually,” Harry says. “I did.”

“Watch me,” Draco replies, his tone utterly calm.

“What do you talk about with Delilah?” Harry asks.

Draco cocks a smile. “I mainly just lie to her. I think she knows, though.” He hesitates for a moment. “There is only one person I could possibly have discussed the war with. He is dead.”

Harry looks back at the tombstone.

-

The floo in the headmistress’ office flares, and order members step out; Kingsley in front. Minerva stands in the middle of the room, waiting for them, face tight. Kingsley raises the newspaper in his hand. “Is this true, or another bogus story?”

“I don’t know,” is all Minerva can say to that.

“Where is the boy?” Kingsley asks.

“Remus is looking for him.”

Kingsley narrows his eyes. “Where – is – his – room?”

-

In the eighth year common room, Blaise and Ron are bent over the same newspaper article, mouths hanging open.

“What the hell?” Blaise sputters.

The door flies open. Everyone looks up, startled, as order members march through to the bedroom. McGonagall follows in their wake, but remains in the common room and folds her hands.

“What the _hell_?” Blaise repeats.

“Mr. Weasley, Mr. Zabini,” McGonagall greets them calmly. “You haven’t seen Draco by any chance, have you?”

-

“Have you had breakfast?” Harry asks.

Draco shrugs, which could mean anything. Harry doesn’t ask any further. “Well, I’m going to grab something.”

Draco nods. Harry waits a few seconds longer, wondering if he should say something else. Then he gets up, grabs the newspaper and turns to leave. He rounds the tombstones and starts making his way down the hill. He looks up when he spots Remus running towards him. Remus stops dead when he sees Harry and his eyes flash to the newspaper in Harry’s hands. Harry frowns a little and approaches him. “Something happened?”

“Is Draco there?” Remus asks urgently.

“Yes,” Harry says, feeling his stomach clench in worry. “What-”

“Did you read it?” Remus continues, more quietly this time.

“Read what?” Harry raises the newspaper, but Remus grabs his wrist with one hand, and the newspaper with his other.

Harry feels his chest tighten. Clearly, it’s bad. “What? What is it?” _Please no people dead, please no one dead_.

Remus hesitates. “It’s.. It’s nothing you need to be concerned about. Please, trust me Harry. Just go inside.”

Harry eyes him with concern. He wants to protest, but he does trusts Remus. So he nods, releases the paper into Remus’ hands and starts walking back to the castle with hurried strides.

Remus takes a deep breath, then rounds a few tombstones until he sees Draco. The young man is sitting motionless, staring at the ground, his blond hair falling over his eyes. He is resting one of his hands on top of the tombstone next to him. The scene seems so intimate and so perfectly tranquil, and Remus suddenly feels like an intruder.

But he knows he has to.

“Hello.”

Draco’s head shoots up and his hand slides off the tombstone. He relaxes when he sees who it is. “Ah – er, I thought I heard someone,” he says.

Remus is not sure what to say, but Draco seems to notice something in Remus’ face, because he stands up with a frown. “Were you looking for me, sir?”

Remus wordlessly holds the newspaper out to him. Draco frowns and takes a few steps forward. Remus very carefully studies Draco’s face as Draco takes the paper and turns it towards himself.

Draco sees his own picture first. “Now what..” He mumbles. He smoothens out the front page and sees the headline.

And his world screeches to a halt.


	11. Positive news

The Order members have brought Draco’s trunk into the common room and have strewn the contents across a long table. Every single box is being opened, trouser pockets pulled inside out, books shaken open.

Minerva is supervising from a short distance, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently against the floor tiles. A million thoughts are running through her head, but she doesn’t want to latch on to any of them. Not until they are sure. A small noise filters down from the stairwell and her eyes shoot upward, where some heads poke out.

“Inside, all of you!” She snaps.

The heads disappear.

Madeye circles the table again, then turns to Kingsley. “It’s not here. That story is bullshit. What else could we expect?”

Minerva hears the entrance slide open behind her and whirls around as everyone else looks up. At first, it seems like it’s just Remus entering, but then Draco steps around him. He has a remarkably closed off expression on his face; no anger, no fear, no shock. He merely looks at the mess and sighs a little.

“WELL?” Alastor barks

Draco looks up at him. “What are you looking for?” He asks calmly.

Madeye snorts and is about to launch into a tirade-

“Your half of the two-way Tourmaline,” Minerva says.

Draco makes eye contact with her for a split second, then looks at Kingsley who stares back at him. He finally raises a small chain from around his neck. It has a silver locket at the end, shaped like a tiny cylinder. Draco murmurs a spell - it is long and doesn’t sound Latin – and the silver slowly melts away, revealing a tiny stone in the heart. Draco extends his arm, letting the locket dangle from it. The others just stare at it.

“You don’t want to see it?” Draco asks wearily.

Kingsley doesn’t respond, just intently searches Draco’s face. Draco doesn’t meet his eyes. Instead, he keeps them trained on a random spot on the carpet.

“How do we know it’s the real thing?” Madeye challenges as he squints at Draco.

“It’s the real thing,” Remus says.

Madeye stomps up to Draco. “How the hell does the Daily Prophet get a hold of this story before _us_?”

Draco just looks at him, blankly. “I don’t know.”

“You haven’t talked to anyone? Maybe written it down somewhere?” Remus suggests.

Draco scoffs, closing his eyes for a second. “Of course not.”

Madeye continues his rant. “Why the hell have you not come forward? Finish the job you have started-”

 _That_ seems to snap Draco out of his impassive trance. He turns to Madeye and looks him dead in the eye. “I did my job,” he hisses. “And I didn’t do it _for you_ , I didn’t do it to make friends. I did it because it was right. And now it’s over. I don’t owe any of you jack shit.”

That shuts Alastor up.

They all turn at the noise of stone sliding against stone. The entrance slides open once again and Tonks enters, followed by a nervous-looking Delilah, who nods at the occupants in the room.

“Good morning.”

-

They have taken refuge in a nearby empty classroom, away from the other students. Draco feels the walls closing in on him as he takes in Delilah’s halting confession. He feels like he is underwater and everything around him is happening in slow motion. He also feels like he is about to throw up – and he _really_ doesn’t want to throw up in front of these people. Remus hasn’t looked at him yet, and Draco knows the man must be furious with him.

“I take full responsibility for what happened,” Delilah says. “And I apologize. But I – mistakenly – thought I needed to expose a threat. There were rumours of cover-ups, plots to kill Harry Potter.. A reporter from the Daily Prophet got in touch with me and said that he had received anonymous tips about Draco and just needed them backed up. He told me Draco was dangerous and needed to be stopped.”

“So this is a ‘therapist by day, super-hero-detective by night’ thing, is it?” Remus sneers.

“I just wanted justice,” Delilah says, pleadingly. “And I knew Draco had _never_ been truthful to me in his sessions.”

“How did you do it, _exactly_?” Kingsley asks, nostrils flaring. “Veritaserum? Imperius? Obliviate? Some combination?”

Delilah shakes her head. “No. I knew Draco was smart. I didn’t want to use any spells of magical substances he might recognize. This was a common muggle drug, mixed into his tea. After he went to sleep, I withdrew memories from his mind and stored them away. I sent them to the reporter without revising them myself. If I had known the contents, I would never have dealt with the information so carelessly. I’m terribly sorry for any trouble I’ve caused.”

“Trouble..” Draco whispers hoarsely. He notices some occupants of the room glancing his way and bites his tongue.

Kingsley still looks appalled and incredulous. “You have sedated one of your own patients and violated their memory!”

“I know, sir,” Delilah looks him straight in the eye, with only a hint of remorse on her face. “I know. It’s dead against any code of conduct. But I couldn’t let a war criminal go unpunished.”

“Except you didn’t know if he was one!” Kingsley thundered. “Instead, you decided to play judge, jury and executioner! You violated an innocent young man’s privacy and splashed his story across the front page.”

Delilah winces a little. “At least it’s positive news,” she tries, weakly.

“Positive news.. Oh – Merlin.” Draco feels his chest constrict and legs buckle underneath him. His vision is starting to tunnel. He feels someone grabbing his arm and realizes it is Remus who is trying to hold him up and directs him towards a chair in which he sinks down heavily.

He hears Kingsley’s voice, a softer tone, directed at him. “Draco – if you’re thinking of your mother, we’ve already sent Miranda over there. She’ll take a risk inventory, but I really don’t think it likely that Death Eater sympathizers will get to her. She is still under house arrest.”

“Your mother..” Delilah mutters, suddenly seeming to realize her actions may have unforeseen consequences.

Madeye sniffs condescendingly. “If Mrs Malfoy has any sense of self preservation, she will publicly renounce her son a.s.a.p.,” he states bluntly.

Draco can’t help but groan at that, burying his face in his hands. Oh Merlin’s balls his father will already have gotten the paper in his cell. And the strings he can pull, even from where he is now.. And his mother’s friends, at least half of whom are still definitely covert supporters of the Death Eater cause..

“Draco, _breathe_ ,” Remus murmurs into his ear.

But he can’t, it’s as if he has completely forgotten how to. “Remus - I have to – can I get out of here, please?”

Remus looks at Kingsley, who nods, and Draco feels a strong arm lifting him up and guiding him towards the door.

“Give him something to calm down, for Merlin’s sake,” Madeye complains from behind them.

“Shut up, Alastor!” Remus snarls, before slamming the door shut.


	12. Nice to meet you

Remus approaches with a glass of water. Draco has been silently sitting on the edge of the sofa in his office for almost fifteen minutes now, still doubled over. His breathing is calmer; long, deep breaths in and slow, controlled breaths out.

Remus takes a seat next to him and puts one hand on the nape of Draco’s neck, slowly rubbing it up and down. “Draco,” He murmurs.

Draco takes another deep breath in, then slowly sits up and leans back a little, finally locking eyes with Remus for the first time since their confrontation in the graveyard. Remus smiles. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Meet me,” Draco repeats, his voice flat.

“You know what I mean.”

Draco looks away now, down at his hands. His legs are wobbling up and down. “Disappointed?” He finally asks.

Remus raises his eyebrows a little. “Quite the opposite.”

Draco meets his eyes again.

“Impressed,” Remus clarifies.

Draco slightly pulls a face at that, as though he doesn’t think it very likely. He struggles for words for a moment.

“I’m not... I don’t... I mean, it’s not just my mother. I knew what I was risking. It’s just everything all at once.”

“I know,” Remus nods. “You should have seen me bawl my eyes out after Voldemort was defeated.”

Draco finally stills his legs and eyes Remus again. “Yeah?”

“Everyone was celebrating through the night,” Remus recalls. “But Harry just wanted to go home, of course. So I put him to bed and then cried all over my living room sofa.”

Draco smiles, a little gratefully. He seems more relaxed now.

“Of course,” Remus continues, “that evening things didn’t end for you. Maybe for you they just ended today.”

Draco’s face twists up and he buries his face in his hands as great, gasping sobs overtake him. Remus leans forward and Draco pretty much collapses in his arms. Remus holds him without saying anything.

-

Kingsley and Madeye make their way through the castle, led by Minerva.

“I still think something stinks about the whole story,” Alastor grumbles.

Kingsley eyes him incredulously. “Seriously? After everything we’ve seen today?”

“Just saying..” Madeye grunted. “Red operated under You-Know-Who’s nose, under constant pressure, up close and personal with murder and torture. He performed countless complex tasks and operations with extreme subtlety. _This_ kid gets a panic attack at the thought of not seeing his mommy again.”

They have arrived at the door to Remus’ office. Kingsley turns to Madeye. “Alastor, you know I greatly appreciate your no-nonsense approach and candidness. But in this particular instance, I think it best if you were not present for the conversation. Please get in touch with Miranda and see what she has learned about Mrs Malfoy, then report back. Minerva – please join me.”

Minerva nods and they enter, leaving a slightly disgruntled Madeye in the hallway.

-

Draco quaffs the glass of water, his hands still shaking, trying to tune out the murmured voices from Minister Shacklebolt and Professor McGonagall who have entered the room. He knows he still looks like hell, but frankly, he doesn’t really care anymore. A strange fatigue is washing over him, and he can barely find the energy to haul himself out of his chair and smoothen down his rumpled clothes when he notices the minister approaching.

“Draco.” Shacklebolt says, his eyes friendly. “Allow me to shake your hand. As a first official thank you for everything you’ve done for us these past years. Let’s put that ahead of everything in spite of the circumstances right now.” He grasps Draco’s hand.

“Thank you, sir,” Draco replies, as politely as he can muster at the moment. “Uhm – sorry for.. just now. With _her_.”

Shacklebolt waves his hand. “Don’t be. If it were me I would have punched her in the face. Let’s sit.”

They all sit down. Remus has added more chairs, and as McGonagall moves past Draco to sit down, he feels her hand shortly squeezing his shoulder. Draco makes eye contact with her as she sits down, and she smiles at him, her eyes blazing with pride. Draco quickly looks away, throat tight.

“Alastor is getting some intel on your mother,” Shacklebolt explains. “He’ll report back as soon as he knows more.”

Draco just nods, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I never would have expected... well.. _this_.” Skachlebolt eyes him with his head cocked to one side. “I’m still wrapping my head around it, actually. How old were you when Severus started training you?”

“Sixteen,” Draco answers, indifferently. “Summer before my sixth year.”

“Merlin,” Shacklebolt mutters.

Draco feels defensiveness bubble up in his chest. “I _know_ I was young, all right? But Severus prepared me well.”

“I’m not doubting your competence,” Shacklebolt assures him. “It’s not as if you haven’t proven yourself a thousand times over. But I must admit it is a bit disconcerting. To be honest, if Severus had been here, I would have chewed him out a little for getting a child involved.”

Draco scowls at that. “Well, he isn’t here,” He slates. “Because he gave up his life to save your asses during that Rosenstone screw-up.”

A short silence.

“My apologies,” Shacklebolt says, softly. “Severus was a hero, Draco, I will never deny that.”

Draco nods, feeling slightly mortified for shouting at the freaking minister of magic. He rubs his face, looks at Remus. “Look – if I’m going to do this, I’m going to need something to relax.”

Remus seems to consider that for a moment. “Well – were you thinking of a calming draught, or a glass of whiskey?”

Draco arches an eyebrow. “I was thinking of a draught, but if you’re offering.”

Remus grins, then turns to his liquor cabinet. The others remain silent until he returns with a bottle of whiskey and four glasses. He pours Draco a glass first, which Draco downs in one go as Remus pours the others. Remus comes back and fills him up again, before corking the bottle.

“It’s not as if I wasn’t already neck-deep in Death Eater business at that point,” Draco recounts. “As you well know, the Dark Lord gave me a ‘mission’ during sixth year. Severus couldn’t have kept me out of it even if he wanted to. But he _didn’t_ want to, because he knew I had a knack for occlumency.”

Shacklebolt just nods. Draco waits out the silence for a few seconds, then squints. “Don’t you have questions for me?”

“I have many of them, I can’t deny that,” Shacklebolt carefully formulates. “But we’re not here for an interrogation. I can imagine you want to know some things from us as well?”

Draco stares into his drink, contemplating that. “What’s next with... _her_?”

Shacklebolt looks at McGonagall, who clears her throat. “She has been fired and is packing her bags as we speak. I think the question is, do you want to sue her?”

Draco hadn’t even considered that. “To achieve what, exactly?”

“Professional disqualification,” Shacklebolt suggests. “Financial compensation for emotional distress.”

For some reason, that seems so ludicrous after everything, that it makes Draco chuckle hollowly once or twice. He stifles his laughter and looks at Shacklebolt again. “I do have an actual question.”

“That wasn’t an actual question?”

Draco gives a dismissive wave. “It wasn’t important, anyway.” He eyes the newspaper that is still rolled up in Kingsley’s hand, not sure if he really wants to know the answer to his next question. But he knows he’ll have to deal with it eventually, so he looks back at Shacklebolt. “Which memories?”

-

Remus hasn’t had time to read the article, either, so he sits next to Draco as they pour through it. It is ironic how the reporter makes it out as if he is scandalized at the way the memories had been procured, even as he gives a detailed account of their contents. He was probably very aware of how immoral the whole thing was, and wanted to make sure he would not be taken down in the fall-out.

The detailed, two-page analysis of Draco’s memories is followed by another lengthy two-page text filled with speculations about the relationship between Draco and his father, which Draco barely glances at before finally shoving the papers away. “Well, as far as Daily Prophet articles go, this seems to be more or less factual.” He grimaces, clasping his hands together. Remus notices that Draco’s hands have started to tremble again.

Remus feels that surge of protectiveness again, stronger than ever, and turns to the others. “Kingsley, I think it would benefit Draco if we were to give him some time to process the day’s events and continue our discussion tomorrow.”

Kingsley seems to want to object. Naturally; his priority is sorting this mess out and wrapping it up as quickly as possible. But Remus’ priority is the well-being of his students, and he gives Kingsley a look which – he hopes – clearly conveys that he is not going to budge on this issue. “I insist. Please.”

“I would agree,” Minerva says.

Kingsley sighs soberly. “Of course.”


	13. The end of the line

“Thank you,” Draco whispers as soon as the other two have left the room.

Remus squeezes his shoulder. “Just tell me what you need, Draco. Do you want to talk? Sleep? Have you even had breakfast?”

“I.. I think I’ll just go take a walk,” Draco says with a shaky voice.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone right now,” Remus objects.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with everything alone, remember?”

“Screw that. You are eighteen,” Remus says, sternly. “You’re allowed to ask for help, you know? You probably won’t like hearing this, but you’re practically a kid. You are. Just like Harry and Blaise and everyone who has had to deal with this goddamn war. So just let me help you, please. Tell me what you need.”

Draco sniffs. “Talk, I guess,” he finally croaks.

“Okay,” Remus says immediately. “What about?”

“I... I don’t know. Anything.”

Remus thinks for a few seconds. “I can’t believe I arrested you,” he finally says.

Draco cracks a watery smile. “Yeah. If I had known you were Zenith at that point, I think I would have probably told you everything. I was having a hard time keeping my emotions in check in that particular moment.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Remus whispers. “Once you knew, I mean. They put you in Azkaban.”

“Only until the trial.”

“What if you hadn’t been treated as a minor? Would you have told someone?”

“Yes.”

Remus lets out a breath. “Okay. That’s good.”

Silence.

“Madeye is right, you know,” Draco croaks. “My mother is definitely going to repudiate me. I’ll probably get the letter tomorrow morning, if not tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” is all Remus can say. He has learned enough about the workings of pure-blood families to know that Draco is probably right.

Silence.

“I kind of hate the idea of my memories still sitting in that reporter’s office. Can we get them back?”

“I think, knowing Kingsley, he’s already sent a guy over. But I’ll check with him later.”

Silence.

“Are you angry at me?”

Remus looks up at Draco, who is looking very small, suddenly. “Wh- Do I look angry?”

“No, but in my experience, that doesn’t say much,” Draco mutters.

Growing up around people like Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape, Remus can get that. “I had drinks with Kingsley last night,” he recounts. “I conveyed your message to him, asked him to stop looking for you. It’s like you told Madeye, you didn’t owe us anything. You don’t. You’ve done... more than we could have possibly asked from you. How could I be angry?”

“I don’t know,” Draco says slowly. “I felt pretty shitty, seeing you every day and not saying anything. That was even worse than keeping it from my mother, who seems to believe that I’m plotting to kill the minister of magic or something.”

“Why on earth would she think that?”

“Well, technically Lucius did ask me to,” Draco says in an airy tone, as if he is commenting on the weather.

Remus blinks at him. “What?”

“He smuggled a letter into my cell when we were awaiting trial.”

“You don’t think we should report that?”

Draco gives him an unimpressed look. “Remus. He asked me, an eighteen year old who, as far as he knows, throws up whenever he sees blood, to infiltrate the ministry by posing as the French ambassador. That’s not a joke, those were his specific instructions. The man has had a mental breakdown.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus murmurs. “But that makes me even more relieved that we know everything now. If you can’t turn to family, you need someone else to talk to. Anyone. Preferably me.”

Draco gives a soft smile.

-

It is hours later when Draco finally enters the eighth year common room again, ignoring the silence that falls as he enters, and sinking down in a chair in front of the fire with his eyes closed. If he managed to survive two years of making the Dark Lord believe he was scared and harmless, he can damn well survive a few more weeks of students whispering behind his back.

“Is it true?” A voice pipes up in front of him.

Draco slowly opens his eyes to see Blaise Zabini sitting on the low table in front of him.

“Yes,” he calmly replies.

Blaise gawks at him. “But.... like... _how_?”

Draco presses his fingers against his closed eyelids. “What can I say, Blaise, read the article.”

An incredulous chortle from Blaise. “So you pretty much threw your own dad in jail? Some balls, Malfoy Junior!”

Draco feels Blaise patting him on the leg. He opens his eyes, looks down at Blaises hand on his knee, then looks up at Blaise with the same dead-pan expression.

“ _Fuck off_ , Blaise.”


	14. I'll have that tea, now

 “Mate? ‘Mione and I were thinking of going to Hogsmeade tomorrow. We haven’t been out of the castle in ages.”

Harry nods, not looking up from his homework. “Sure, have fun.”

He can practically _hear_ the two of them exchange worried looks.

“We actually meant that maybe you’d possibly want to come along,” Hermione carefully formulates.

“No thanks, I’m good,” Harry can't really stop the annoyance from seeping into his voice. He knows that there is no rational reason to keep getting upset with his friends when they try to reach out to him. Frankly, it's a miracle they still haven’t given up. But Harry can’t – he just can’t go out and ‘have fun’ after so many people have lost so much.

“You’re not _'good'_ , Harry,” Hermione says. “You’ve barely been outside this year. You won’t even visit Hagrid.”

“I see him in the great hall,” Harry replies softly.

“Do you know if anyone is coming soon to replace Delilah?” Hermione soldiers on. “If not, maybe you should organize for someone else to meet with you. I could ask Remus, or Professor Prince? You like her.”

Harry feels irritation flash through him at the nerve of Hermione to try and coordinate his therapy for him. He slams his books shut and, without looking at either of them, marches off.

Ron's “Oh – come on, Harry!” echoes after him as he leaves the common room.

-

Harry makes his way to the only place where he knows some piece of mind is guaranteed. The tiny secluded graveyard under the castle’s walls. _There, Hermione, I’m outside._

He sits down in blissful quiet in front of Snape’s headstone. The last time he was here, Draco had been, too. Right before the colossal fall-out the newspaper article had caused. It feels like weeks ago, but it has only been a few days. Days in which Draco has made himself even more scarce than usual.

The whole case has left Harry feeling more confused and anxious than ever. Not because of Draco, but because of Delilah. His therapist, a women he trusted completely. If there was anyone who knew how Harry felt, how the war had left its marks, it was her. More than Remus, more even than Ron and Hermione. And it had taken a lot out of him to decide to trust this person. To tell her everything, _everything_ he was struggling with, hoping she could make it better. And now she is gone. Fired, because she blabbed about one of her patients to the papers. Harry knows she had good intentions on some level, but her actions have still left him with a deep sense of betrayal – plus a determination to _not_ trust another shrink shoved his way. Because those could have been _his_ deepest and darkest secrets, splashed across the front page.

-

Remus looks up from his work at a timid knock at the door. He is not surprised to see Hermione appear in the doorway when he waves the door open.

He lays his pen down and gives her a smile. “How are you?”

“All things considered, really well,” she responds. “Remember that tea you invited me to? I’ll have it now, if you’re not busy.”

Remus smiles again and ducks his head, getting up from behind his desk to boil the kettle. “Is this about Draco?”

“No. That’s not my business.”

“Harry?”

“Yes.”

Remus turns back to her. She has sat down on his sofa, crossing her legs and folding her hands together.

He knows how many job offers she has turned down to come back to Hogwarts. He also knows _why_ she turned them down, and it wasn’t because she was so adamant about finishing her education. Those priorities shifted during the war.

“I know you are worried about him. We all are. But don’t make Harry’s entire well-being your responsibility. Minerva is already setting up meetings to hire a new therapist.”

Hermione purses her lips. “I doubt Harry will want to talk to anyone else after what happened.”

“He’s probably not the only one,” Remus mutters, wiping a hand across his face. He is certainly sure that Draco will not consent to sharing a room with another therapist. Especially now that the ministry is re-evaluating his sentence and the court-ordered therapy will no doubt be rescinded soon.

“I know you’re very busy. Your little girl, teaching here, the trials, and now everything going on with RED. I don’t want to ask anything else from you. But I know that if anyone can get Harry to talk, it’s you. And if not you, someone else he already knows. Someone he already trusts.”

Remus nods. “I’ll see what I can do.”

-

“Draco!”

Draco turns towards the voice echoing down the hallway and waits patiently for Remus to catch up with him.

“Sorry,” Remus says, a little out of breath, as he halts next to Draco. “Are you in a hurry?”

“No. Just going for a walk”

“So, no classes right now?”

“No, what do you need?”

Remus gives a small smile at Draco’s preparedness. “I’m seeing Harry in my office this evening, to talk. I’d like for you to join us.”

“Talk.” Draco echoes.

“Yes. Now that Delilah is gone.”

Draco pulls his bag a little higher. “I didn’t actually talk to her about anything important, you know.”

“I _do_ know,” Remus says. “And that needs to change. My office. Nine o’clock. See you then.”


	15. A symphony

The clock in Remus’ office is chiming nine when there is a knock at the door. He hadn’t expected Draco to be anything less than perfectly punctual. Opening the door to find a wary and somewhat pale-looking Draco isn’t entirely a surprise either.

“Draco. Excellent,” he says, stepping aside to let him in. Draco doesn’t move, however. He just looks at Remus, and Remus cracks a smile. “Don’t look as though I’m going to flay you alive.”

“You aren’t, huh?” Draco says, lifting his chin a little.

“Come on,” Remus says. “Harry’s here.”

That clearly doesn’t encourage Draco at all, but he steps inside anyway. Remus closes the door behind him, and when he turns back he sees Draco, transfixed, staring at the couch where Harry is sitting with Nova on his lap.

Harry looks up at Draco. “Hey! You’re here.”

Draco nods, but keeps his eyes trained on the little girl. “Want to hold her?” Harry asks, clearly a bit amused by how enthralled Draco seems.

Remus chuckles and steps forward. He takes his daughter from Harry’s arms and turns. “Nova, meet my good friend Draco.”

Draco looks hesitant, but then carefully takes her from Remus’ arms into his own and slowly walks around the office, rocking the little girl, a secretly delighted look on his face. “You’re so pretty!” He coos.

Remus sinks back onto the sofa and pours a third drink.

“You and I need to cook up a plan to get your daddy of my back, hmm?” Draco murmurs behind him.

Remus merely smiles.

Draco sits with them, carefully handing Nova back to Remus and accepting a drink with a curt smile.

“Minerva has already hired a new therapist. He is starting on Monday,” Remus announces, as he shifts Nova in his arms and leans back.

“I’m not going to another one!” Harry exclaims. “After what the last one did to Draco – to _you_!” He turns to look at Draco.

Draco eyes the drink in his hand contemplatively. “She did what she thought was her duty,” he says, a little stiffly.

“I suppose,” Harry murmurs.

“But it was a dick move, yes,” Draco continues.

Remus barks out a surprised laugh and Draco smirks at him.

“When were you planning on telling people, anyways?” Harry asks.

Draco throws him an incredulous look. “What do you think? _Never_! I was perfectly happy with the way things were.”

Remus knows they are all thinking of the same thing: A public announcement from Narcissa Malfoy in the Daily Prophet a few days ago in which she officially disowned her son. Draco had read the announcement with a stony face and refused to talk about it since. Remus knows that Minerva has redirected a lot of owls with letters addressed to Draco over the last few days. They don’t know if the letters are threats or supportive, but Draco probably isn’t in a mood to deal with either.

“I don’t think that is true, though,” Remus slowly says. “With everything you have seen and done during the war – you can’t deal with that alone, I already told you that. You can’t.”

Something flickers in Draco’s eyes, but it is quickly extinguished. “I occlude,” he calmly states.

“Occluding isn’t dealing with it. It’s pushing your feelings and thoughts away.”

“Yes. And it works like a charm. And trust me – I don’t do it nearly as much as during the war.”

“Wish I could do it,” Harry says, forlorn. “At least maybe then I could sit though a Malfoy trial without freaking out – oh sorry,” he goes a little red, faltering as he realizes what he just said. “Sorry. I won’t talk about your – I won’t talk about Lucius.”

Draco just gives a mild shrug.

“Did you see the quidditch match yesterday?” Remus asks, conversationally. He already knows the answer: Draco avoids his fellow students like the plague and Harry...

Harry shakes his head. “I haven’t gone flying all year. I don’t really want to watch other people doing it, either.”

Draco’s head has shot up at that, and he gives Harry a disbelieving look. “You.. You haven’t gone flying in a year?”

Harry just shrugs.

“ _You,_ ” Draco repeats. “Harry Potter. The youngest seeker in over a hundred years. Who swallowed the goddamn snitch in his first game. _You_ haven’t gone flying in a year?”

“It feels wrong to go flying.”

“What the hell? What does that even mean? It feels _wrong_ to - ... isn’t flying pretty much the best feeling in the world?”

Harry seems a bit taken aback. “Uhmm. Well yes, that’s why. After everything that happened... I’d feel like a traitor doing things that make me happy.”

 _The heart of the matter_ , Remus thinks. He has been trying to convince Harry to allow himself some happiness, but not much of his input has helped. Let’s see if Draco has something to say.

Turns out, he does. “Oh, _uhg_ , give me a break! Give me a goddamn break. Salazar’s bollocks, the war is over. What needs to happen for you to feel happy about it? Do you want it to rain glitter? Should the leaves on the trees make music when the wind blows through them? You’re still waiting for some fairy tale ending, but the ending we’re getting right now is pretty damn close. As far as I am concerned, the trees _are_ making music. They’re playing a goddamn symphony. You’re just not listening.”

“You swear a lot.” Harry observes. Remus can’t really disagree; it doesn’t suit the perfectly poised Draco Malfoy everyone knows. But over the last few days he has slowly come to realize which parts of Draco are _really_ Draco and which parts aren’t.

Draco ignores the comment. “You shouldn’t strive for all things to be perfect, because then you’ll miss out on all the things that are good. We get to move on, you know?”

“What about everyone who died?” Harry protests

“The people who died, died to give us a better future. It would be goddamn disrespectful of us not to live our life in happiness. In their honour.”

-

All in all, as far as Remus is concerned, it is a very productive hour. Once the boys leave he puts away the glasses and takes out a few clean ones, already anticipating Minerva’s arrival later that evening.

This time, the knock on the door arrives sooner than he had expected, and when he opens the door, Draco is standing in front of him _again_ , this time flanked by Minerva and Tonks.

“Hey.... hey!” He says, taken by surprise as Tonks steps forward for a quick peck on the lips.

“I know it’s late, but we need to talk,” Tonks says, turning around to beckon Draco and Minerva inside. “We bumped into Draco in the hallway. He might just as well sit in. This concerns him.”

Minerva and Draco seat themselves. Draco looks frankly terrified, and Remus can’t blame him. It is clear from the tight faces around him that the news won’t be joyous.

Tonks leans over Nova’s crib for a quick moment, before turning to them. “Remember Ariano?”

Remus nods as he seats himself next to Draco. “Malfoy’s lawyer. Yes.”

“He demands that Lucius Malfoy’s case be re-evaluated in light of the new developments.”

“What new developments?” Remus asks, already fearing the answer.

“The fact that most evidence in his case was provided by his son. Ariano wants to make it likely that Draco forged the evidence in order to gain quicker access to his inheritance.”

Remus stares at her, slack jawed. “That’s bullshit.”

“It is. But a few hours ago, the judges’ panel on the Council of Magical Law determined that the evidence was legally sufficient. They want an evidentiary hearing where Ariano can question Draco.”

Draco looks between them, his silver eyes stormy, and doesn't say a word.

“Not going to happen,” Remus firmly states. As far as he’s concerned, the Council can go screw itself. “If the judges decided this evening, how come we haven’t been informed of this earlier?”

Tonks looks vaguely apologetic. “You have enough on your mind, Remus. And Draco, too. We didn’t expect the judges to go along with Ariano’s motion. After all, most of the evidence speaks for itself. We were hoping to deal with this without needing to bother either one of you. We failed. I’m sorry. Draco will probably receive the call to testify by owl tomorrow.”

Remus looks at Draco again, to see that Draco has gone ashen, his face haunted.

“Can we refuse?” Remus asks.

“Remus, it’s fine,” Draco quietly says. “I don’t want to take any risk of Lucius getting a reduced sentence. So I’ll go.”

“Ariano won’t go easy on you.” Tonks warns.

“Yes ma’am, although I think I’m used to people not going easy on me.”


	16. On your own feet

Harry didn’t realize he still had this memory, but watching Professor McGonagall demonstrating their new assignment of turning their furniture into livestock, he suddenly remembers his very first transfiguration class in his first year. When the war was far away, and going after Voldemort still seemed like just an exciting adventure. Professor McGonagall had turned her desk into a pig and back into a desk, making everyone excited to get going, until they realized they would have to start with turning a match into a needle.

Well, sure, a lot of time has passed. And transfiguration will never be Harry’s best subject. But sitting here with Ron and Hermione, trying to figure out how to turn a chair into a donkey, makes him feel like things are finally coming full circle.

“You’re not holding your wand right!” Hermione snipes at Ron.

“Stop staring at my wand for once!” Ron snaps back.

Yes, it really is like _the good old days_.

Reality kicks in again, though, when there is a rapt knock at the door and Professor Prince sticks her head in. “Excuse me, Minerva, I need to borrow Mr. Zabini from you.”

At Professor McGonagall’s nod, Blaise gets up from the table, looking instantly pale and nervous as he leaves the classroom.

Hermione worries her bottom lip. “Do you think it’s about his father?”

Ron sniffs. “Who cares? He’s a jerk.”

“He’s not so bad,” Harry murmurs. “Just a bit tense.”

“Which is understandable, given his situation.” Hermione says wisely.

Ron pulls a face at her.

-

Professor Prince leads Blaise into a deserted classroom. Blaise leans against a desk and studies his nails, feigning indifference. “They arrested him, didn’t they?”

“Yes,” she says.

“Where?”

“Italy.”

“Figures.”

“I’m sorry, Blaise,” Professor Prince says, and she must mean it, because her usually stoic face looks apologetic.

“Yeah, well..” Blaise shrugged. “What does it matter? Whether he’s abroad or in jail.... the bottom line is still that he lied to me my whole life and that I’m on my own.”

“Yes.” Professor Prince says.

Blaise snorts. “Wow. Thanks for making me feel better.”

She shakes her head, a tiny smile on her lips. “I don’t think you would feel better if I comforted you with some ‘there there, it will be fine’-speech. What you need is a plan.”

Blaise lifts his eyebrows at her.

“Yes,” she continues. “As head of your house, I am well aware of your talents. You are doing excellent in herbology and charms, and I see no reason why your wish to become a healer wouldn’t become a reality. Right now, you are alone, but you are well equipped to cope with it, and no one will stay alone forever. You make new friends, you start a new family.”

“Except I don’t really have any money to study or rent a place,” Blaise mutters.

“That’s why we’ll make a plan. If you are amenable, we will go to my office right now and set one up.” She pauses, then quietly adds; “Take it from someone who had to start out alone after the last war, in a situation very similar to yours; if it feels like rock bottom right now, then I assure you that rock bottom is a strong foundation on which to rebuild your life.”

Blaise mulls her offer over for a bit, feeling something almost like hope uncurling inside him. “Yeah – yes. Okay. Sounds good. Let’s do it.”

-

They are taking the same route they would sometimes walk in third year, when Harry was struggling with dementors. Sometimes it feels a bit as if that is exactly what he is struggling with right now: No matter how hard he tries, the bad memories stop him from feeling happy.

Remus is walking beside him and Draco is at least twenty yards behind them. Draco’s hearing is coming up and he is in a cranky mood. He only agreed to walk with them under the condition that they wouldn’t talk to him, which Remus for some reason just seemed to find amusing.

A rustling sound makes them halt in their footsteps. Harry is the first one who spots the small group of thestrals standing perfectly still between the trees, looking at them with their large, milky eyes.

“Can you see them, too?” He asks Remus.

“I think everyone can see them by now,” he replies. “But I have been able to see them for years.”

“Really?”

A wry smile from Remus. “Yes. I _did_ already live through a war in my twenties. But you don’t come across thestrals on a regular basis, so I had only seen them a few times before I started teaching at Hogwarts.”

To Harry, the thestrals signify death in more than one way. Not only did they appear after he watched Cedric die, but they also carried him and his friends to the ministry that fateful night when Sirius died - _will you stop thinking about that all the time?_

“Sickle for your thoughts?” Remus says quietly.

Harry shrugs. “Sirius.”

“Hm.”

“I was going to live with him and everything, I mean...” he falters.

Remus eyes him for a while. “You _do_ remember I want you to come back and live with us, hm?”

“ _Yes_ , Remus. I appreciate the offer. And _you_ do remember I’m going to be an adult who should be able to stand on his own two feet?”

“Nonsense,” Remus says, waving his hand. “I wish you would realize how ridiculously young you look to us. All of you.” He spares a glance at Draco. “And either way, you’d be doing me a favor. I would enjoy your company.”

Harry just presses his lips together and turns back to look at the thestrals. Remus doesn’t push any further, thankfully.

“They’re kind of beautiful, hm?” Remus says, after a short silence.

“Yeah.” Harry looks back at Draco, who is standing at a little distance, just staring at his own feet, kicking an acorn.

“I think some people don’t _want_ to see them, though,” he adds in a low voice.

“I can hear you, you know!” Draco announces in a snooty voice.


	17. Red-letter day

“You didn’t have to come,” Draco says, looking up at the large white building. “I know tonight is a full moon.” He shrugs off his sweater, revealing the suit underneath.

They are in a ministry car – courtesy of Kingsley – having just parked outside the courtroom.

“If you really meant that, maybe you should have said it when I got in at Hogsmeade, not at the end of a two hour drive,” Remus lightly jokes.

Draco smiles a tight-lipped smile. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a few days. His hands tremble slightly as he fusses with his tie.

“Just don’t let Areano get under your skin,” Remus says, quietly.

“Don’t worry. He won’t”

Thank Merlin Lucius Malfoy will not be present at this particular hearing. Tonks had also informed Remus that Narcissa has made no request to have her house arrest lifted, so clearly she will not appear either. What they couldn’t prevent, however, are the hundreds of journalists and just generally curious people pushing their way into the building in front of them to attend this public, _very_ public hearing.

An Auror, introducing herself as Alana Partridge, escorts them quickly and efficiently to a backdoor and into a small room. She points at the door. “The courtroom is right through there. I’ll come pick you up when it’s time.”

Draco nods, looking ashen, and as soon as she has left he whispers: “This is fucking me up Remus.”

Remus puts both his hands on Draco’s shoulder and squeezes. “Just don’t put too much pressure on yourself. You don’t have to deceive, hell, you don’t even have to look tough. If you want to yell at him, yell. If you want to cry, cry. Either way, the truth is on your side.”

“You make it sound like telling the truth is easier than lying,” Draco mutters.

-

When Partridge enters to pick them up, she directs Remus to a seat in the front and Draco straight to the stand. Remus is relieved to see that Amelia Bones is their judge; if anyone can’t be corrupted, it’s her.

Surprisingly, Draco gets applause as he moves to the stand. Remus isn’t sure _why_ he is surprised; Draco is officially a war hero after all, although he has as of yet refused to pick up his order of Merlin. But Remus did expect that most people wouldn’t be able to look past the ‘Malfoy’ last name. Apparently, people’s minds are less black and white than he had feared.

Draco doesn’t really seem to register the support - or at least, it doesn’t seem to make him feel any better.

The hearing starts with a lengthy report on Areano’s motion about additional evidence and the court’s decision to reopen the case to allow the presentation of this additional evidence, and Remus still feels a little miffed about Tonks keeping him in the dark about all this.

The report then turns to Draco _being_ the new evidence, and Draco has to state his name, which he does, hoarsely.

And that’s when Remus hears notebooks fluttering open and journalists grabbing for their quills, because Areano gets the floor and he stalks forward like a shark – albeit a rather overweight one.

“Mr. Malfoy. And so finally, we meet,” Areano booms. “Dozens of cases with your name on the file, but you didn’t come forward. Dozens of lawyers investigating your whereabouts to help them make their case, but you stayed silent. The order’s most trusted spy, suddenly afraid to finish what he started? Your absence made a mockery of wizarding law! Your silence obstructed our justice!”

Draco says nothing, he just remains where he is, hunched, staring at his knees.

“We shouldn’t be surprised, of course,” Areano drones on. “Perfectly understandable, given your young age, wouldn’t you say so, Mr. Malfoy?”

He waits for Draco to speak, but all Draco manages is a small “maybe...”

“The Calderon family. The mass kidnapping from Diagon Alley. The Rosenstone incident. All incidents you reported on, all incidents mentioned in cases against so-called Death Eaters, _your own father_ included. What was that like, hm? Seeing it happen before your eyes?”

 _Is this guy for real?_ Remus clenches his teeth and balls his fists. He expected the lawyer to be a nasty piece of work, but what the hell is Areano hoping to achieve with this? He notices Draco making eyecontact with him for a moment, looking silently desperate. Remus tries to give him an encouraging smile, although he feels so angry that he’s not sure if it doesn’t just come out as a grimace.

“Well?” Areano continues, “not easy to deal with, probably? Quite tough on someone as young as you, hm?”

“Yeah,” Draco finally says, his voice croaking on the single syllable. “Well. Yeah. No. Not easy. But Severus taught me, and he... he’s more my father than Lucius ever was, anyway.”

“Right. So we can certainly establish that you feel a lot of hate and resentment towards you biological father?”

“I didn’t say _that_.” Draco protests.

“You said you don’t consider him your father. So we have established an estranged relationship between father and son, and we have established that you were very young and overwhelmed by everything happening around you. Well then, Mr. Malfoy, wouldn’t you also say that spying on you-know-who requires more skills than someone your age could possibly possess?”

Draco seems to genuinely think about that for a moment. “I suppose so,” he finally murmurs.

“But you are exceptional, are you?” Areano continues, in a tone that drips with sarcasm.

Draco shakes his head. “No. I’m just... easily underestimated.”

Areano guffaws, in that fake way Remus remembers from Lucius’ last trial. “Oh – Excuse me – I must have misunderstood. Easily _underestimated_? You seem to be barely holding yourself together right now. One wonders how you managed two years among Death Eaters.”

Once again, Draco seems to really think about that for a moment.

Then, he leans back in his chair, carefully smoothening his suit, crossing his legs, folding his hands, assuming a very relaxed pose and looking Areano straight in the eye. “Well, would you be more comfortable if I played the part, Mr. Areano? You see, in fact, spying on the Dark Lord requires only _one_ very specific skill.”

Areano is visibly thrown by Draco’s change in demeanour, his mouth hanging open a little.

Draco continues, his tone sharp and controlled. “The Dark Lord's reign leaned entirely on his occlumency. He fancied himself the best legillimens in the world, but I was taught by a man so vastly superior to him that the Dark Lord didn't even realize that the things he saw were not real. Let alone that he could uncover the real memories behind them.”

Areano still looks baffled, but he does manage to raise an eyebrow. “Severus Snape taught you, in a few hours, the skill of occlumency so thoroughly that You-Know-Who couldn't break through?” He drawls. “Or are we supposed to believe that you just hid from him for several months until your training was complete?”

Draco shrugs dismissively. “In those first few months, the Dark Lord probably could have known if he had tried to read my mind. But he simply never could be bohered.”

“He-who-must-not-be-named, the most powerful dark wizard of our age, ‘couldn’t be bothered’? That is not how he strategized, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco narrows his eyes at him. Suddenly, _he_ looks like a shark; a shark who has just laid eyes on his afternoon snack. “DON'T tell me how the Dark Lord strategized. That is _my_ job to tell _you_. His main fallacy was that he couldn't think outside the boundaries of his own psychopathic mind. He didn't understand that people might think in different ways than he did. He felt threatened by his own people, but only the ones who were skilled, who tried to be part of his inner circle, gain power. He legilimized that inner circle on a daily basis and knew their every thought, terrified that one of them might try to undermine him. However, he couldn't fathom the idea of someone posing as weaker than he actually is. So when the Dark Lord _sees_ some scared teenager, frankly, no, he can't be bothered. So that is the part I played.”

“You’re playing a part right now!” Areano accuses.

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Draco says calmly, “I am, at the moment, occluding. Believe it or not, the war has left me pretty fucked up. And I know constantly occluding is bad for me, so I try to avoid it. But I’m clearly not going to make it through this trial without it, so here we are. Ask away; the Rosenstone incident, the attack on Diagon Alley, the torture of Mr and Mrs Calderon _and their little son_? I can tell you every detail about Lucius Malfoy’s involvement in them. And it won’t in any way deviate from all the reports you already have from RED. Because if anything, I am thorough. I am meticulous, Mr. Areano, I should have been in goddamn Ravenclaw.”

A ripple of laughter through the courtroom. And at that moment Remus can tell, even without having a clear view of Areano’s face, that the man knows he is going to lose.

Amelia Bones clears her throat. “Mr Malfoy, I would like to remind you to mind your words in a court of law. Mr. Areano, I would like to remind _you_ that this young sir was awarded the order of Merlin for his work. You would do well to leave any accusations out of this, and proceed to questions that are actually relevant to the case at hand”

“Fine!” Areano snarls. “Fine! Mr. Malfoy, you admit to having a strained relationship with your father?”

“Guilty as charged,” Draco drawls.

“And how, in your own words, would you describe the financial advantages you have gained from now legally being the oldest male in the Malfoy household since putting your own father in jail?”

“I would describe it as non-existent,” Draco replies. “I don’t know if you read the papers, but my mother disowned me. And even if she hadn’t: We may value tradition, but we’re not medieval. With my father gone, my _mother_ is the head of the household. So unless you are going to accuse me of plotting to kill her, I would say this is another dead end.”

Areano turns an unflattering shade of reddish purple.

-

Draco doesn’t fall apart until they are in the car on their way back to the castle. He is staring out the window when Remus lightly touches his shoulder. “Draco.”

“Hm?”

“Still occluding?”

Draco’s hands twist in his lap. “I don’t want to stop,” he mutters.

Remus scoots a little closer to him and then pulls him close. Draco doesn’t protest; instead he melts into Remus’ embrace.

“Well, I’ve got you,” Remus whispers. “So try. It’s okay to feel pain, fear, anger, whatever. You did amazing. We won.”

Draco cries all the way back to the castle. And Remus never lets go of him.


	18. The beginning

Minerva is highly displeased when Narcissa Malfoy is announced only minutes before her arrival.

“State your business,” she says coolly when the Malfoy Matriarch steps out of her fireplace, followed closely by some auror with a bored expression.

“To see Draco,” Narcissa says. She still has an haughty air, but there is some desperation lurking in her eyes, too.

“For what reason?”

Narcissa lifts her head. “Does a mother need a reason to talk to her son?”

“Certainly not,” Minerva replies brusquely. “However, since you disowned and renounced Draco only a few weeks ago, I hardly think you qualify as one.”

“I did what needed to be done to calm things down,” Narcissa says. “I knew Draco was safe with you, but I needed to secure my own position, too. I just want to talk to him.”

Minerva purses her lips, slowly nods. “That can be arranged. An order member will of course have to be present.”

-

The auror that is probably assigned to baby-sit his mother for the day is standing in front of the door when Draco arrives, Remus by his side. Professor McGonagall has made her old office available to them. Now that she is headmistress, she doesn’t use it anymore. Remus politely greats the auror, who merely grunts a little in response, then gives Draco a questioning look as if to say _’are you sure about this?’_.

Draco gives a little nod at Remus to show he’s fine, then pushes the door open and enters, Remus following closely behind.

His mother is sitting on the couch, perfectly poised. She is wearing a dress she usually saves for special occasions. Draco isn’t really sure what message she is trying to send with that.

“Hello Draco,” Narcissa whispers as she rises from the couch.

“Mother,” he greets back politely, feeling wary.

He _almost_ wants to step back when she suddenly strides towards him, but in the next moment, he is engulfed in an uncharacteristically tight hug.

After a few moments Narcissa releases him and holds him at arm’s length, looking him up and down and reaching out to smoothen a crinkle in his shirt. “Well,” she says with a little sniff. “I ordered us some Oolong tea, but I must admit the elves here didn’t really manage to produce anything up to par.”

“Yes mother, tea brewed under your supervision is the very best tea,” Draco says theatrically.

She smiles and pulls him towards the couch. Draco watches as she pours him a cup of tea with perfectly elegant motions. He figures she probably needs to keep up this ‘perfect little family’-farce to diffuse any awkward tension between them.

She slides a teacup his way, then takes out an envelope and holds it out to Draco. “I have something for you.”

Remus clears his throat and steps forward. “I’ll have to check that for hexes. And the tea, too.”

Narcissa looks scandalized. “You think I’m here to hex my son?”

“It’s a possibility I’m not ruling out,” Remus replies stiffly.

“Mother, let him do his work please,” Draco says, and then to Remus: “Go ahead, although I’d say if she were trying to hex me she wouldn’t attempt to do it so blatantly.”

Narcissa huffs. “Honestly...”

After Remus has performed his spells and cleared any suspicions, Draco takes the envelope with a nod and breaks the wax seal.

Inside the envelope is a simple blank card with a tiny silver key taped to it. There is no further explanation written anywhere, but Draco grew up in the Malfoy household, so he knows exactly what it means. “Whose is this?”

“Your own,” his mother says. “I can’t undo your disherison, at least not any time soon. So I opened a new vault for you at Gringotts and – ah – deposited a certain sum. Very discreetly of course.”

Draco eyes her for a while, still holding the card up between two fingers. “I don’t care about the money,” he finally says quietly.

“Well, you should,” Narcissa admonishes. “You need something to fall back on.”

“So that’s it?” Draco says. “You’re here to discuss finance?”

Narcissa avoids his gaze by picking up her teacup and taking a sip. “Use it to go to that project in New Zealand you were so adamant about.”

“How do you know about New Zealand?”

Narcissa lifts a single eyebrow. “I’m your mother. I know you.”

“Actually, you don’t.”

Narcissa sets her cup back down and folds her hands tightly to keep them from trembling. She looks at Draco and her eyes are suddenly sad. “No,” she murmurs. “Maybe I don’t.”

“And you don’t like me, either,” Draco states.

Narcissa looks taken aback. “What?”

“I could see it in your eyes whenever you came to visit me here.”

“I was afraid of the path you were choosing – you _seemed_ to be choosing. I thought you were on another suicidal mission. I didn’t like that. But I never stopped loving you. We are family!” Narcissa adamantly pronounces.

“Lucius is family,” Draco reminds her. “Do you love him?”

“Yes, and I know you do too,” Narcissa replies. Her gaze turns stern when Draco starts to shake his head. “We can dislike our family, Draco, but we can’t stop ourselves from loving them, too. In case you forgot, I was there at his trial, too; I saw how shaken you were by the verdict.”

“Because that was _my_ evidence!” Draco hisses.

“Yes,” Narcissa says. “But you weren’t that unsettled when _your_ evidence put Yaxley behind bars. Or Dolohov. Or Greyback.”

Draco looks his mother in the eye. He senses no anger from her at the mention of his position as RED; she rather seems to take it all in stride. And his mother has never been particularly good at hiding her emotions. Still...

“Hmmm, well, I suppose you must have gone to see Lucius several times since my identity was discovered,” he muses. “Did he talk about how he ‘can’t stop himself from loving me’, huh? Or did he maybe tell you to disown me, and if possible to slip some poison into my tea?”

“Well, obviously, I didn’t.” Narcissa says, gesturing at Remus. She doesn’t deny the part about Lucius asking her to, Draco notices. “And either way your father... appears to be rather unstable at the moment.”

“I am aware,” Draco says, exchanging a glance with Remus.

“But he loves you,” Narcissa continues, firmly.

Draco decides to wisely ignore that. No use arguing over things that can’t be changed. He looks down at the key in his hand, then holds the card out to Narcissa. “I don’t need this.”

Narcissa leans back, shaking her head and folding her arms. “It wasn’t a proposal, it is a gift. It is improper to return it.”

“Screw proper,” Draco says with a shrug, ignoring his mother’s tiny gasp – probably the first time she has heard him curse. “I don’t need it.” He repeats.

“But I need it,” his mother says, her voice pleading. “I need to know that you have it. I won’t be able to openly support you without angering certain people, you know that, but I’ll do what I can. You won’t be able to rely on our friends and family. At least let me have the assurance that you’ll be able to rely on this.”

“He’ll have plenty people to rely on, believe me,” Remus suddenly chimes in, giving Narcissa an unreadable look. Draco is not sure if he’s saying it to provoke his mother or to reassure her, but he appreciates the sentiment all the same.

He considers the options before him. Having some money at his disposal _will_ make it easier to travel like he wanted. New Zealand had been more of an escape plan, back when his identity as RED was undiscovered. But he does still feel that a few months far away from all this, alone, might be the best way to come to terms with everything. And although he feels somewhat estranged from his mother, he doesn’t want her to be unhappy, either. It’s true, he supposes, that you can’t help but love certain people. Well, no one will ever accuse a Malfoy of turning up his nose at money.

Aware that he has been silently eyeing the key for almost a minute, while his mother seems to be waiting with bated breath, he carefully slips the card back into the envelope and folds it away. “Thank you.”

Narcissa releases a long breath, then nods. “Thank you,” she echoes softly.

-

Not surprisingly, Draco seems to be lost in thought as Remus walks him back to the eighth year common room. As far as Remus is concerned, the whole thing could have gone far _far_ worse. In her own, somewhat self-absorbed way, at least Narcissa’s visit had been a show of support. And knowing old fashioned pure-blooded families, it is not unusual for them to consider a large sum of money a perfect substitute for love.

“So, New Zealand?” He asks.

Draco frowns a little and hums, as if he had been thinking about something completely different and forgotten all about that. “Maybe not New Zealand per se,” he replies. “But yes, I do think I’ll take a few months to myself once I have finished here.”

Remus nods. A few months ago, he would have tried to dissuade Draco of the whole plan, but he is starting to realize that it’s not an impulsive, spur of the moment-idea, but rather something Draco has thought long and hard about, something he needs to do.

“Whenever you come back, you know my home is always open to you,” he offers.

Draco smiles. “Thanks, Zenith.”

His face turns contemplative again, gazing at the floor as they saunter through the hallway. “Something still on your mind?” Remus asks.

“Yeah,” Draco says. “But maybe you can help; where can I get me some broomsticks?”

-

The other eighth years look up when Draco enters their common room, lugging around a bunch of broomsticks. Draco strides right up to the table where Harry, Ron and Hermione are sitting.

“We’re going to play some quidditch,” he announces, throwing one of the broomsticks at Hermione, who barely manages to catch it.

“I’m... I’m not going flying,” she protests weakly. “I’m not good at it.”

“Exactly, Granger, you’ll be there for comic relief,” Draco replies, dead-pan.

Hermione bristles at him and he raises his shoulders. “What? How do you expect Potter to go flying with us if you’re not setting a good example?”

Harry’s head jerks up at that. “Wha- Oh, I don’t... I mean... It’s raining..” he lamely finishes.

“Shut your trap and get your broom,” Draco barks. “We didn’t spend years of our life trying to win a war only to mope around when we’ve finally won. You’re going flying and that’s that.”

“Oh, very well,” Hermione relents, “I’ll go, too. Harry?”

Harry swallows, feeling everyone’s expectant gaze on him. He knows that Hermione positively hates flying, hates heights and hates doing anything at fast speeds. If she can get over that, surely he can get over whatever feelings he has about the whole thing himself. “Fiiinnne,” he says, making sure to sound like he is making a huge sacrifice by agreeing to go.

“Excellent.” Draco throws two more brooms in the general direction of the Patil twins, who look somewhat hesitant but do pick them up. Draco then approaches Blaise who is lying on his back on the rug near the fireplace. His friendship with Blaise has been on shaky grounds for the last months, but now doesn’t seem like a time to hold a grudge. He extends a hand to help Blaise up. Blaise blinks up at him, but then does take his hand and allows himself to be pulled to his feet.

“Last one on the pitch has to clean everything up afterwards!”

-

Madame Hooch is already storming towards the large entrance doors when she is called back by Professor McGonagall, who has appeared at the top of the stairs.

“I wouldn’t go out, Rolanda, it’s raining,” Minerva says calmly.

“Minerva ... Didn’t you see ... Look out the window ... They have _no_ permission to be on the field right now!”

“Leave them, Rolanda,” Minerva says. “They’re being kids. About time, if you ask me.”

-

Hours later, Harry strolls into Remus’ office, his broom still in one hand. He is drenched, shivering and covered in mud, but all Remus sees is his wide smile.

“I caught the snitch,” Harry says, out of breath, his eyes glittering.

“I saw,” Remus replies with a fond smile as he points at the chair next to his window.

Remus has spent the better half of the last two hours sitting next to the window. He had opened it so that he could hear the shrieks and laughter carrying all the way from the Quidditch pitch. He watched a tiny Draco and Harry whizzing around doing barrel rolls and chasing the snitch, while most of the others seemed to be happy to stay a lot closer to the ground, throwing a quaffle around. But they _had_ all joined in. For hours. In spite of the rain.

Remus takes out his wand and murmurs a quick drying spell, watching the clouds of steam rise up as water evaporates from Harry’s clothes.

“Ah - thanks,” Harry says, beaming up at him while his now dry hair is sticking up in all directions.

He looks so like his father that it makes Remus’ throat tighten a little. He reaches out and cards a hand through Harry’s hair, trying to flatten it a little.

“Ah – never mind that,” Harry says. “Lost cause.”

Remus chuckles.

Harry trudges to the couch and leans the broom against the armrest before sitting down. “Hey – did you know Draco is going to New Zealand after the exams?”

“I know he is going to travel,” Remus carefully replies.

“Blaise might be going with him,” Harry elaborates. “They were talking about it just now.”

Remus just nods. He has made peace with Draco’s plans, and it might be very good for Blaise to go along. But if Harry has gotten any ideas from them to _also_ leave the country for months and months... he’s not sure if he can bear to miss this kid.

“It just made me think about the next step, with the exams coming up and everything," Harry murmurs, and Remus holds his breath.

"Hey, Remus...? That offer you and Tonks made about me staying at your place for a while... is that still standing?”

Remus' face splits into a wide smile. He steps closer and pulls Harry into a fierce hug.

 _I’ve got him, James_ , he promises silently. _He’s going to be just fine._

 

end

**Author's Note:**

> (English is not my native language but I'm trying. I appreciate any corrections in spelling, grammar, sentence building etc)


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